Angels Among Us
by Laura Picken
Summary: Matt, Foggy and company discover the greater war between good and evil. A Christian story set in my "Guardians of Shangri La" AU. (Hopefully) first in a series. Dedicated to the lovely Evenmoor!
1. Chapter 1

My first fan fiction was an X-Files/Touched by an Angel/Piercing the Darkness crossover called "Divine Intervention" (It's on my author page for anyone who wants to check it out. Just remember it was my first fanfic. Even I think it's terrible. Reader beware...) When I got my first pieces of 'fan e-mail' from that story, one wonderfully creative man told me about his idea for a fantasy novel based on the idea that God created more than one world with life on it - and each world has its own Bible, appropriate to the sentient race that lives there. While I have no idea if he ever tried to do anything with that particular idea, it planted a seed: the idea that fantasy stories, with alll the trappings that go with them, could be used to explore Biblical truths.

I have wanted to write stories in that vein for a long time. I had originally hoped to do that with the "Four Winds" series, but that got harder and harder to do as the stories got more and more tied up with the Marvel Avengers Universe. I still want to do it with the predecessors' stories...but with the Guardians' powers being rooted in Buddhist traditions out of geographic necessity, it's still going to be a tricky battle with a lot of arguments along the way.

And then I watched _Daredevil._

Honestly, I haven't been this excited about writng fan fiction in a long time.

 **UNIVERSE DISCLAIMER:** These stories are set in my "Guardians of Shangri La" alternate universe - a massively multi-verse AU crossover that includes _Castle, Forever, Sentinel,_ and most of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, including _Avengers, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ and now _Daredevil._ While these stories are set in this universe, THEY ARE NOT "CASTLE" GUARDIAN STORIES. This series will be almost entirely focused on the Daredevil characters, with the Guardians coming in only as supporting characters (if they show up at all). Henry Morgan _(Forever)_ will probably play the biggest supporting role out of the standard universe's characters, but that's mostly because the Bronx is a _long_ way away from Hell's Kitchen.

I'm setting these stories in the Guardian universe because of a lot of concepts I introduced in the story "Watchmen" (available on my author page). The two key diversions from Daredevil's canon are that Matt and Foggy are a telepathically linked Sentinel and Guide and Foggy has 'flipped', which means he now has the power of psychokinesis (he can move things with his mind). Matt doesn't change a whole lot (at least at the beginning *g*), but Foggy is most definitely *not* the Foggy from the show's canon in many ways. I'll be explaining this stuff in more detail in this story, so you don't need to have read "Watchmen" to catch up, but I won't stop you if you want to read that one, too. -)

 **SUBJECT MATTER DISCLAIMER:** These stories (if you haven't guessed already) will be deeply rooted in Matt's Catholic beliefs - and as such, will be devoutely, shamelessly, unabashedly Christian. You don't like it, go elsewhere. _Now._

I'm also throwing yet another bit of source material into the multiverse kettle: two of the novels of Frank Peretti - "This Present Darkness" and "Piercing the Darkness". These two novels (two of the few Christian novels I actually really _like)_ are about angels and demons fighting for our souls on a 'spirit plane' that exists all around us. I first used characters from these novels in "Divine Intervention" and haven't touched them since. They're overdue for more action. :-D

I know I'm going to end up quoting a ton of scriptures throughout these stories - and as such, I'll warn you now that any Bible verses will come from the modern New International Version (NIV). The references will be mentioned in an author's note at the end of any chapters where I use scriptures, so you'll be able to look them up for yourself in the translation of your choice if you so choose.

 **LEGALESE:** Really? I don't own Marvel. I don't own _any_ of the intellectual property I'm playing with in this series unless it's original to the "Guardians" concept. If I start disclaiming all the universes that will get referenced in this series, it's gonna be a long, long day...Just know that I try to be a really nice person, so if you *are* a representative for one of these shows whose characters I love so dearly, please remember that the only lawyers I have on my side are Nelson and Murdock. If you ask nicely, I'll probably do whatever you want. I just want to tell some good stories.

I hope you guys will enjoy reading these stories as much as I will enjoy writing them. I have been a Christian most of my adult life, and these stories will be a chance to share my faith as well as my love of fan fiction with all of you. And finally,

 **DEDICATION** : These stories are dedicated to the lovely Evenmoor, who not only came up with the concept for Foggy's superhero persona, but gave me the push to start this branch of the Guardian family tree. These stories wouldn't exist without you!

Enough talk! Let the adventure begin...

#

"Good morning, Father."

Father Lantom turned around to see Matt Murdock standing in the aisle of the sanctuary with his trusty cane in one hand...and a gift bag in the other. He stood for the briefest of moments and took in the younger man's appearance. While he was as put together as he always was, Matt was (for once) not looking like he had spent the previous evening in a nasty barroom brawl. Still, it was more than that...

He looked at peace.

For the first time since they had reconnected in his adult life, Matt Murdock looked happy.

 _Is this a good thing,_ the priest thought, _or a bad thing?_

"Good morning, Matthew!" Father Lantom called out in greeting, trying to ignore the feeling of dread that was growing in the back of his mind.

Matt moved closer, tapping his cane to show the clearest path in front of him. When he was sure he was within arm's length of the older man, he held out the bag. "I come bearing gifts."

Surprised by the gesture, Father Lantom took the bag, surprised by its weight...and even more surprised by its contents. "A coffee grinder and..."

"It's a custom blend of fair trade Brazilian coffee," Matt explained. "A...friend recommended it to me. I've never tried it before, but it smells delicious..."

 _*Smells* delicious?_ thought Father Lantom. _I don't smell..._ if there was one thing that the priest knew about Matt Murdock, it was that the young man chose his words _very_ carefully. "Well then," he volunteered, "why don't we give that coffee grinder a test drive?"

Matt smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

#

 _Well, he's right,_ thought Father Lantom, _this might be the best cup of coffee I've ever had._ He picked up the small bag of beans and read the refined-looking bilingual label. "This just might end up in the rectory," he joked. "For 'special' occasions."

Matt chuckled. "I had a feeling it might," he agreed.

The priest shared in Matt's good humor even as he tried to contemplate the cause. "May I ask you a question?"

"Anything," Matt replied.

"You seem...different today," Father Lantom observed. "Happier."

The smile on Matt's face grew just the tiniest bit wider even as he blushed. "It's not the usual mood I'm in when we talk."

"Might I ask what's happened in your life to bring about such a change? A...young lady, perhaps?"

Matt shook his head. "No. No, it's not that." He took a few sips from his latte as he tried to put the cause of his good mood into words. "I suppose...I suppose you could say I've come to terms with who I am."

Father Lantom tensed with sudden concern for what 'coming to terms' with himself could mean for a man like the one he knew Matt Murdock had become. "That...that sounds wonderful, Matthew."

"No, no!" Matt countered, sensing the priest's discomfort. "What I was trying to say was that I no longer see what I can do as curse...as the Devil. It's a gift that I was probably born with."

Father Lantom's eyes went wide as he shook his head, a thousand disjointed memories clicking into place all at once. "I don't know why I didn't see it before," he whispered.

It quickly became Matt's turn to shake his head in confusion. "I don't follow," he insisted.

"You were an incredibly colicky baby," Father Lantom described. "Worst case I've ever seen. Drove your mother absolutely crazy. You had to wear earmuffs all the time."

"I did?" asked Matt.

Father Lantom nodded, his mind elsewhere. "And there were all these odd special requests every time she brought you to Sunday School," he continued. "No bright lights, don't sit you too close to the window, your lay teachers couldn't wear perfume. Your mother packed you a snack every Sunday - she insisted that we couldn't provide one for you."

"Yeah, I remember," Matt agreed, his expression speaking of wistful remembrance.

"You see, the thing is...there are only two possible ways that all those requests could tie together: you were either crazy from the time you were born, which I doubt..."

"Or?"

Father Lantom leaned in close, fully understanding the weight of the words he was about to say. "Or your senses are so incredibly sensitive that on a bad day TV static could sound like a jet engine. That's how you could smell that coffee even through a vacuum sealed bag. Am I wrong?"

"No," Matt admitted, "you're not wrong."

"That's your gift, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Matt agreed. "It's called being a Sentinel."

The puzzle pieces were coming together faster and faster. "A Sentinel...that's how you do what you do, isn't it? You can probably hear everything going on in Hell's Kitchen. All the time..."

"It's also _why_ I do what I do," Matt added. "Can you imagine hearing all of that pain, all of that suffering, and doing nothing about it?"

Father Lantom shook his head with a chuckle. "I have a hard enough time hearing confessions, sometimes. And that's just listening to one person at a time. To hear everything...every whispered prayer, every secret fight, all at once...Just extraordinary. I certainly wouldn't want to be you, Matthew, I'm certain of that." He sipped his cooling latte as he considered all the implications of what Matt had just told him. One thing stuck out. "If you were born with these abilities, then what's changed that's allowed you to make peace with them?"

"I found someone...people. Friends," Matt tried to explain, but still finding the words difficult to come by. "Some of them are like me. One of them is a specialist in helping people like me..."

"A specialist?" asked Father Lantom. "Sounds like your gifts might not be as unique as you thought they were."

"I knew I wasn't the only one," Matt countered. "But I had only met one other person with my gifts..."

"Until recently?"

Matt nodded. "This man believes that those who share our gifts need to isolate ourselves from the world. Stay on the fringes so that we could protect the world from evil without being hampered by having 'comforts' that we would miss when they were gone."

"Comforts? Like..."

"Friends," Matt replied. "Family. A home."

Father Lantom leaned back in his chair. "Sounds like an awful way to live," he mused.

"After he left, I was determined to prove him wrong. But then..."

"The 'devil' hurt people you care about," Father Lantom declared, recalling their earlier conversations.

Matt agreed with a slow, shaky sigh as he remembered those dark times. "It made me wonder if maybe Stick was right."

"Was he?"

Matt grinned and shook his head. "No. He wasn't. Recently, I've come to understand something that Stick will probably never learn."

"And what's that?"

"That if you let people in, they'll fight by your side. You don't have to fight alone."

Father Lantom's smile matched Matt's. He stood up to make a second cup of coffee. "My dear, dear boy," he sighed, squeezing Matt's shoulder in a show of support at he passed by. "You never did."

#


	2. Chapter 2

Early morning runs were becoming something of a tradition for the Law Offices of Nelson and Murdock.

Matt Murdock jogged around the Central Park Reservoir at what was, for him, an easy pace. The run itself was a luxury: a chance to get in a simple outdoor workout, during the day, without his 'Clark Kent getup' as his Guide so often described it. It was one of the few times he allowed himself to be seen in public free of his cane and sunglasses, and he reveled in one of the rare activities where he was able to just 'be himself' without donning the costume that came with his vigilante alter ego. If he were alone, Matt knew, he probably would be running much faster...

...but the pace, like the activity itself, wasn't just for him.

Foggy Nelson, as had become his new 'normal', felt like he was dying. Matt, true to his word, was doing everything he could to help Foggy prepare for the one thing he now wanted more than anything else in the world: to fight the 'good fight' alongside his Sentinel and best friend when the man went out at night as the vigilante known as "Daredevil". And he had quickly made huge strides in close-quarters self-defense and learning to use his psychokinetic gift as a long-range weapon. Even in the short amount of time since his dormant Guardian gene had 'flipped', giving him his very own God-given superpower, Foggy thought he was doing pretty good with it. Which meant that there was only one obstacle truly standing in his way.

And that particular obstacle just might be the death of him.

The two men stopped when Matt heard the tell-tale signs that his Guide's heart was just straining past its previous limits. "Okay, Foggy," he said, "I think you're good for the day."

Foggy doubled over, resting his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. "I know I asked for this...but running _sucks._ "

"You won't feel like that when you're running away from someone that's trying to kill you," Matt countered.

Foggy looked up at his best friend, his voice clearly showing his annoyance. "You know, the fact that this is so easy for you isn't doing _anything_ to make me feel any better."

Matt reached over to give Foggy a reassuring pat on the back. "It'll get easier. I promise."

"I just wish I knew _when,"_ Foggy groaned, standing up and stretching his arms across his chest to keep his muscles warm and moving.

"This is the part that takes _time,_ Foggy. Time, patience and persistence," Matt insisted. "I've been training since I was a kid. And don't forget, you've already taken a minute off your time this week. That's _really_ good."

"It is?" asked Foggy, willing to take any encouragement that was coming his way.

Matt nodded. "C'mon," he beckoned his friend, "I'll buy you a bottle of water..."

#

Two figures watched the Central Park Reservoir from a distance. Each one had a commanding presence; a demeanor that gave the impression of immense power kept under rigid control. When they spoke, people listened.

But at the same time, these two figures also had a gentleness to them. Once you got past the imposing first impressions, you wanted to pour your hearts out to them; let them wrap their strong, loving arms around you and hope with all your might that they never let go.

They kept a watchful eye on the hustle and bustle of the city as it moved before them...but their attention never left the two men who were heading away from the park to begin their days in earnest. The dark-haired, olive-skinned one turned to his fair-haired friend. "Is there some reason why we are keeping such a distance?" he asked.

"These men see far more than others," his friend explained. "They may even have the ability to see us."

The eyes of the dark-haired man went wide. "The one they call devil? He can see us?"

"He is no devil," the fair-haired one stressed. "He is a Sentinel. And the other is his Guide."

The dark-haired one drew in a sharp, gasping breath. "They've been blessed?"

"They have," the fair-haired one replied with a nod.

"So is that why we are here?" the dark-haired one asked. "Are we going to make contact..."

"Not yet," his friend insisted. "We are here to watch over these watchmen. They need to be protected until the remnant is assembled to watch over them."

The dark-haired one let his gaze wander away from their charges to look up at the sky. He licked his lips, tasting the air around him as it weighed heavily on his being. "Do you feel it, my captain?"

The 'captain' nodded. "The day is coming soon, my friend. They must be ready for it. As must we."

#

Elizabeth Mary Margaret O'Halloran, 'Emma' to her friends, was whistling as the unlocked the door to the Holy Cross parish administrative offices. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the day was brimming with the promise of great blessings to come. The smells of espresso, cream and sugar wafted up to her nose from the downstairs conference room, and she yawned before she could stop herself. _I guess I haven't had enough coffee yet,_ thought Emma. _Maybe I can talk Father Lantom into making me one of those famous lattes. That would really be a great start to my day!_

The secretary sat down with a sigh, grateful for the comfort of her office chair after her long commute. The creak of the door got her attention while she was changing from her sneakers into her heels, and she looked up to see Father Lantom joining her. "Oh...good morning, Father!" Emma greeted him cheerfully. "Another early morning meeting?"

"Good morning, Emma!" Father Lantom greeted his trusty, middle-aged, but loving and loyal right-hand woman. "Thank goodness for that espresso machine, huh?"

"I wouldn't know," Emma admitted. "I haven't been able to work that infernal machine since the chamber of commerce donated it." Her eyes lit up, trying to make her next statement sound like she had just come up with the request even though it had been consuming her thoughts for the past few minutes. "Say, would you happen to have a minute to..."

Father Lantom knew exactly what his assistant was doing, both with the question and with the timing of said question. "Sure." He moved toward the door, then stopped when he remembered that the only coffee that in close proximity was the pricey Brazilian blend that Matt Murdock had just brought him. "I just remembered," he declared, "the espresso canister is empty. Would you mind getting a couple of bricks from the basement pantry?"

"Of course," Emma agreed with a smile. "I'll be right back." She got up from her desk and joined her boss in their regular dance-around-each-other move that was the only way two people could maneuver within the tiny space. Emma turned away from the sanctuary, her heels clicking on the old tile floor as she walked the few feet to the closest staircase. She bounded down the staircase exuberantly, looking forward to having her very first latte out of the church's espresso machine...

And it was then that Emma heard it. Sounds coming from the room that she was heading toward. _Is it whimpering?_ she thought. _Maybe a squirrel or a racoon that got in from that broken window in the kitchen..._ Emma tilted her head back toward the pantry when the sound got louder. And she finally recognized it for what it was.

Crying.

A little girl.

Crying.

 _Whoever it is,_ Emma thought, _she sounds like she's in a lot of pain._ She took her shoes off and set them in the hallway, not wanting to startle - or worse, spook - whoever she was about to discover.

Emma stood in front of the pantry door, opening it just a crack to let light into the dark space. She gasped at what she saw: the back of a girl with long, dark, stringly hair, sitting on the floor in the middle of the pantry. _How did she get in here?_ The girl looked like the was clutching...no, cradling...something in its arms, rocking it back and forth like she was soothing an infant to try and get it to go back to sleep. _But she's not in a rocking chair,_ thought Emma, _and she's not cooing, or shushing a baby. She's crying. No, she's not crying. She's *grieving*._

The girl started to wail, and the sound chilled Emma to the very core of her being. And that chill brought a terrifying thought to the front of Emma's mind. _What if...what if none of this is real? This church has been around for a hundred years, what if...what if this is a ghost? Oh God...what if it...what if it sees me?_

Emma turned and ran back up the stairs, leaving her shoes behind. She burst so quietly and so suddenly into Father Lantom's office that the priest's own heart felt like it nearly jumped two inches from the shock. "Lord have mercy," the priest exclaimed, trying to catch his breath and slow his rapidly beating heart, "Emma, what in the world has gotten into..." He stopped chastising the woman when she saw the obvious terror on her rapidly paling face. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"Th-th-th-there's..." Emma stammered, finding it difficult to calm her own heart and find her voice. "D-d-d-d-down in the pantry, th-th-th-there's..."

Father Lantom sighed patiently and picked up his phone's handset. "I'll call an exterminator..."

Emma pulled the handset from Father Lantom's hand and slammed the phone down with force that convinced the priest of how truly terrified his secretary was. "It's not a mouse," she insisted through clenched teeth, desperate to be believed. "It's a ghost."

#

"I'm very disappointed in you, Emma," Father Lantom insisted as he descended down the stairs. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, there is no such thing..."

"Yes, yes, I know...there's no such thing as ghosts," Emma whispered, finishing the first comment that would have been the start of a long-standing debate under any other set of circumstances. "But if there's no such thing as ghosts, then _what in God's name is that?!"_

Father Lantom closed his mouth and forced himself to listen for whatever Emma thought she was hearing...and it was then that he heard it, too. "Is that _crying_?"

"Yes, yes!" Emma exclaimed, too scared to keep her voice anything above a harsh whisper. "That's what I heard...in the pantry..."

Father Lantom's eyes went wide when he realized that his assistant wasn't just 'hearing things'. He crept over to the pantry door...almost tripping over his assistant's shoes in the process. When Father Lantom glared at the younger woman, she mouthed a silent apology, so he quickly forgave her and returned his attention to the more pressing matter at hand. He slowly pushed at the door, letting light flood the room. The girl was still where Emma had left her; still seated away from the door, still rocking an unseen package...still deeply enmeshed in her grief. He entered the room one cautious step at a time, not wanting to spook the young girl in front of him. "Miss?" he said quietly.

The girl looked up at him with sad, pleading eyes poking out of a face that was far too gaunt. It was then that Father Lantom discovered that there wasn't just one girl on the floor of that pantry. There were two: one girl who was alive...

and one who wasn't.

#

 **A/N:** I realize that in the comics, Father Lantom is supposedly based out of Saint Patrick's Cathedral (at least according to the Marvel Wiki). That is wildly unrealistic. Saint Patrick's is in the main part of midtown, not Hell's Kitchen. It would also be nearly impossible to do anything covertly there-since Saint Patrick's is, essentially, the church headquarters for the Archidiocese of the City of New York - one of the biggest Catholic churches _in the country._ So I took liberties with the identity of Father Lantom's parish. Holy Cross, according the website of the New York Archdiocese, is one of the few real parishes in Hell's Kitchen...and is being merged with another parish as of August 2015. So in my crazy little Twilight zone, *that* will be Father Lantom's HQ. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

The girl screamed. A deep scream of panic and desperation that chilled Emma and Father Lantom to the depths of their souls.

Father Lantom knelt down, hoping to calm and comfort the girl by approaching her on her level. "It's all ri..." he tried to soothe her.

The girl scrambled away from Father Lantom in a panic, then when she realized that there was neither door nor wall behind her, jumped up, turned and sprinted away.

Emma jumped back and away from the doorframe, her body pushing the door back with a loud _clap_ as she dove to get away from the panicked young woman. By the time Father Lantom had made it to his feet, Emma had found the sense to point in the direction the girl had gone. "Up...up the stairs," she exclaimed.

Father Lantham chased the girl upstairs and through the sanctuary, but by the time he had reached the door, the girl was already stumbling down the middle of the street, causing cars to swerve to avoid hitting her.

The screeching of brakes seemed to be what attracted the attention of the first of the bystanders, but it wasn't long before people started to stop, then stare, then point and comment to each other about the woman that looked like something out of a horror movie.

She never noticed the bystanders or the cars that were taking such desperate lengths to take her life. She barely noticed the buildings or the blue of the sky or the brightness of the sun that was causing her to squint All she knew was that she had to run. Run as fast as she could before she didn't have the energy to run any further...

Father Lantom reached the girl just as she slipped into unconsciousness, collapsing after having expended every ounce of what little energy she had. He knelt by the girl as a green sedan squealed on its breaks, turning sharply to block the road and keep any other cars from coming through. "Oh my God," the driver exclaimed as he pulled out his cell phone, "is she okay?"

"I don't think so," Father Lantom replied, gently moving the girl's dark, sweat-drenched hair away from her face. "But I wish I knew why..."

#

Brett Mahoney tugged at his tie, clearly uncomfortable with the 'fashion accessory'. The crisp new suit that his mother picked out for him felt awkward. Even the shiny new detective's badge that was clipped to his belt felt awkward.

He had started to believe that this day would never come. After taking the detective's exam almost a year earlier, Brett had been wait-listed, stuck working a desk seargent's job while waiting for 'his time to come'. All the while watching men move up who weren't half as smart as he was. _Who'd have thought most of those clowns were on the take to Wilson Fisk,_ he thought. He then smiled, as he often did, about how most of those 'clowns' were now in secure cells at Rikers, awaiting trial. _Thank God for not-so-small favors..._

When Brett heard where the crime scene was, though, his heart sank as he realized that the odds of this being his first case were almost guaranteed. Out of the remaining tiny handful of detectives that hadn't been led away in handcuffs, almost all of them actually _attended_ Holy Cross. Every Sunday. _I'm going to come here on Sunday morning and take attendance,_ he grumbled, _see how many of those 'devout Catholics' were actually telling the *truth*..._

He pulled up the crime scene tape automatically, his reflexes ignoring the fact that, for once, he was on the _other_ side of the tape after it had been unfurled. "Well, whad'ya know," Officer Tony Oglio teased him from the scene side of the tape, "if it isn't _Detective_ Brett Mahoney! Don't tell me, you just came from having a nice, _big_ breakfast..."

Brett accepted the teasing in stride. "You know me, cast iron gut," he countered. "Trust me, with my mama's cookin'..." His eye wandered to the ambulance that was parked at the other end of the block. "Someone else lose their lunch?" he asked.

Oglio shook his head. "Survivor," he replied. "They're just about to take her to Metro General."

"Jesus," Brett exclaimed. "How bad?"

"Severe malnourishment, dehydration, and who the hell knows what else," Oglio replied. "I caught a glimpse of her as they were loading her in. Looked like a skin covered skeleton to me."

Brett let out a second silent curse. "They secure the scene yet?"

Oglio tilted his head in the direction of the church. "Jose's got it covered. He's waiting at the church...with your new partner."

Brett tried to ignore the sinking feeling that he was getting from the way Oglio was looking at him. "Who the hell'd they stick me with?!"

Oglio went from smirking to smiling in a heartbeat. "Nah, I'm just messin' with you, man. You got a noob transfer from the 11th who moved for the notch up. Nice guy, from what I hear."

Brett had to resist the urge to cuff his friend on the back of the head at a crime scene. "I'll catch ya later at O'Malley's?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Oglio replied, before turning his attention back to controlling the rapidly growing crowd of press that was starting to gather on the other side of the tape.

Brett turned on his heel and headed toward the church, completely ignoring the assortment of random questions that were being called out to him. It took half a block of walking before he made it to the non-descript, tree-shaded entrance to the small parish. He walked past Jose, who gave him a courteous nod of respect, then stopped in front of the next man...who appeared to be looking for him. "You Detective Mahoney?" the guy asked.

"Uh..." Brett groaned, shaking his head half-heartedly before remembering his new title and nodding. "Yeah, that's me."

The other man regarted Brett with a patient, knowing smirk. "New shield, huh?"

"Yeah," Brett agreed, blushing as he offered his hand in greeting. "Brett Mahoney."

The other man shook Brett's hand. "Mike Hanson," he introduced himself. "I'm your new partner, in case you hadn't already guessed."

"I had a feeling," chuckled Brett. "How bad is it down there?"

"It's not a vomit comet," Hanson replied. "But it's bad. Your doc thinks the girl starved to death."

"Like the survivor?" asked Brett.

Hanson let out a low whistle as he escorted his partner through the front doors to the sanctuary. "I think that girl made it outta here on chutzpah alone," he commented. "She got about halfway to the end of the block before she passed out in the middle of the street."

Brett surveyed the small, spartan sanctuary, noting that the priest (Father Lantom, if his memory was correct) and a middle-aged woman were giving their statements to two of the officers on scene. He then followed his partner down to the basement and through the small kitchen space to the back storage area where the team from the ME's office had used the butcher block worktable to 'set up shop'. Brett peeked his head past the door to find not the crochety old man he was expecting, but a pretty blond woman kneeling next to the emaciated victim, her concentration focused entirely on her work. Or so Brett thought. "May I help you, detective?" the woman asked, her eyes never looking up from her examination of the body.

"Oh," Brett exclaimed, shaking his head and blushing from having been caught staring. "I'm sorry, but I wasn't expecting..."

The blond stood up, wiping her hands on her jeans as she went. "Doctor Oligar..." she began, stopping with a frown when she realized she was getting the name wrong. "Oliver..., ogli..."

"Doctor Oglivaria?" Brett asked, saving the woman before she got even more frustrated.

The woman didn't seem to care. "Doctor *Oglivaria*, she repeated, stressing the pronounciation she had gotten from Brett, "apparently took an unexpected early retirement to Sâo Tomé, of all places. I'm on loan from the 12th until you guys find a new ME." The woman finally held her hand out in greeting. "Doctor Megan Andrews."

"Brett Mahoney," Brett introduced himself. "What's your assessment?"

"I'll have to get her on the slab to verify it," Megan replied, "But my preliminary cause of death is massive organ damage due to prolonged starvation."

"She starved to death," Brett agreed, paraphrasing the official diagnosis. When Megan nodded, Brett took a better look at their surroundings. "How could two women starve to death in a pantry full of food?"

Megan shook her head, her expression showing a sad contemplation of the events that had unfolded at the location. "How, indeed," she mused.

"Maybe they were a couple of homeless kids?" asked Brett. "Desperate for food, they broke in here but couldn't get it in time for one of them?" Megan shrugged, indicating that she had no evidence to support or refute that particular theory.

Hanson's eye seemed to catch on a detail that the other two were missing. He knelt down next to the body, carefully examined the woman's hand, and let out a string of curses in frustration. "Doc," he finally declared, "I'm gonna need you to do a rape kit on our vic here. Soon as we get back upstairs I'll call the hospital and ask them to do the same."

"Rape kit?" Brett asked, surprised by the demand.

Mike, in response, held up the victim's hand for the other two to see. "How many starving homeless kids you know can't get food but have the cash to get perfect manicures?"

Brett was starting to catch on. "You think these girls were being held somewhere? Against their will?"

Mike turned and studied their victim with the wistful sadness of a father who was thinking about his children. "There's only one reason guys or girls ever pretty themselves up," he explained.

Brett nodded in agreement, catching on immediately. "To get sex."

"This sicko probably couldn't get women to give it up voluntarily," Mike declared, "so he decided to wear these girls down until they finally found him...irresistible."

#

 **A/N:** Sâo Tomé, according to Wikipedia, is a non-extradition country. It kinda sounded like a place "that would use coconuts for phones". ;-) And while Mike Hanson is the one and only massively underutilized character from the massively underrated _Forever,_ Megan Andrews is _not_ Dana Delaney's character from the overrated "Body of Proof" (I've been told that was her name, at any rate...). My Megan Andrews took over for Perlmutter when he went to the Network after "Ascension" _._


	4. Chapter 4

Mike Hanson had to resist the urge to slam down the handset on his phone. Brett jumped, then calmed down quickly when he saw the look on his new partner's face. "Ex wife?" quipped Brett.

"That was Doc Andrews," Mike countered, in no mood to joke. "It's worse than I thought."

"Worse?" asked Brett, eyes wide.

Mike nodded briefly, grabbing the notepad he had just been writing in. "The rape kit showed 'significant scarring consistent with sexual activity with an excessive number of partners.'"

"So she was a working girl?" asked Brett.

Mike shook his head. His face fell into a grim, angry mask of determination. "There's also ligature marks on her wrists and ankles, and around her neck." He swallowed hard, the last line of his notes the hardest part for him to comprehend. "There's also spinal compression consistent with spending long hours in a confined space. Doc Andrews says that with the other trace evidence she collected, she suspects that our vic was being kept in a dog cage."

"Jesus," Brett exclaimed, breathing the word out as more of a curse than anything else. He put down his own pen, leaning back in his chair as he tried to collect his own thoughts. He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly to try and help his focus. "Okay, we have all the indicators that our vic turned tricks, but also that she was being held against her will. You think she was a sex slave?"

"Unless you got a better idea?" Mike countered.

Brett could only shrug. "It does fit the evidence," he agreed. "So what now?"

Mike got up, pulling his blazer off of his rolling office chair and putting it on. "Now we go to the hospital. See if our survivor's test results match up with our vic's."

Brett nodded, grimly mimicing his partner's movements as he got ready to head out. "And if they do?" he asked, suspecting he already knew the answer to the question.

"If these girls were being forced to turn tricks," Mike declared, "then we start looking into who was doin' the forcing."

"But where do we start?" Brett argued. "We don't even know who these girls are."

"We start with where we found them. We take a closer look at that church."

#

Father Lantom sat down in the small, but comfortable easy chair in his study, sipping from a plain, simple white mug. He dunked the chamomile tea bag a couple of times before setting the cup down on the desk. "I thought this garbage was supposed to _relax_ you," he grumbled.

He turned toward the desk and picked up a pen, hoping the act of trying to form the day's challenges into a sermon would help him to gain some distance and perspective. He twirled the pen around in his hand, focusing on the paper as if the sermon was supposed to write itself. After a few tense moments, though, Father Lantom flung the pen across the room in frustration, finally giving up on the act of trying to calm himself down. Every time his mind wandered all he could think about were those girls. _Who are they? Where did they come from? What happened to them?_

A knock on the door caught Father Lantom's attention. He looked up to see Emma standing in the doorway to the study. "The cleaners have gone," she said. "We can go back into the church anytime."

"Thanks," Father Lantom replied dully, never moving from the chair.

"Yeah," Emma agreed as she came into the study and sat down in Father Lantom's guest chair. "I'm not really feeling it, either."

"Do they know _anything_ about those girls?" asked Father Lantom.

Emma shook her head. "It didn't seem like they were even sure what language she was speaking."

"But she _was_ speaking?" asked Father Lantom, desperate for any shred of hope he could find to cling to.

Emma nodded. "At least one of them survived."

"Thank God for that," Father Lantom agreed, taking reassurance in the small victory. He then let out a sigh, showing his continuing frustration as his thoughts got the better of him once again. "I just...I just wish there were _something_ we could do to help them."

Emma leaned forward in the chair, intent on getting her point across. "Can we pray for them, Father?"

Father Lantom sighed again...but this time, he sighed with relief and blushed at his own lack of spiritual discipline. _Now why didn't I think of that?_ "Yes," he finally told Emma, "of course. Praying for them is an _excellent_ idea."

#

The 'captain' and his dark-haired companion stood on opposite sides of the study, unseen by its inhabitants. The dark-haired one was deeply appreciative of the activities unfolding before him, as was his brother-in-arms. "The first warriors," he whispered, "praying without truly knowing what they're praying for. Simply because the Spirit prompted them to do so..."

"This is but a small oasis, my friend," the captain countered with a sigh. "The desert still stretches out before them. It is vast. And fraught with many dangers. For them...and for us."

Guilo's face fell. "Forgive me, captain, if I sounded..."

The captain's head shook slightly as he let loose with a hearty chuckle. "Only you could watch our God's creation with reverence and awe and worry that you're focused more on the created than their creator."

"Do you think they will be victorious? In the end?"

"I think they will fight," the captain declared. "With every ounce of their being."

"As will we," Guilo agreed with a gentle, radiant smile. "Shall we join them, old friend?"

Guilo and the captain stepped forward, the captain then kneeling beside Father Lantom while Guilo knelt beside Emma. They laid their hands over the joined hands of Emma and Father Lantom. Their now-bronzed faces started to glow as they bowed their heads, whispering alongside the warriors they were protecting. The glow grew in intensity as their voices grew in strength, their khakis replaced by pure white robes that radiated with the liight of the spirit that surrounded them. At their waists appeared golden belts and swords that seemed to generate a light all their own. Their eyes sparkled with the brilliance of pure starfire, blazing with life even though their heads were bowed in reverence and worship. Finally, shimmering, nearly transparent wings emerged from their backs and unfurled past their shoulders, joining over the heads of their charges in a canopy of comfort and protection.

And in that circle of protection, Emma and Father Lantom found the peace that they had been searching for.

#

On the other side of Hell's Kitchen, Matt Murdock was stunned into silence as he stood by the coffeemaker. Every one of his senses was slowly being consumed by his hearing...and every ounce of that hearing was focused on only one thing.

Music.

Etherial, mystical, powerful music that was like nothing else he had ever heard in his life.

Matt's head slowly bowed as he put the coffee pot back on its burner, feeling like his feet had taken root in front of the machine. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He could barely breathe. All he could do was listen. And feel.

And weep.

#

 _For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them. - Matthew 18:20_

#


	5. Chapter 5

The orderly quietly went about his business, mopping up what seemed like an excessive amount of spit, urine and vomit from the floor of the private room at Metro General. As he lifted the mop head, letting the brown liquid carelessly drip over the edges of the rolling bucket and the clean water contained within, it would have been clear to any passer-by that the attention of the orderly was far from his dedicated task.

In truth, the orderly's attention was focused on the nurses' station just down the hall. "Detectives Hanson and Mahoney," the taller man declared, flashing a golden-looking badge. "We're following up on the condition of the Jane Doe that was brought in from the church this morning..."

"I know who you're talking about," the short, stout nurse in pink scrubs declared, cutting off the cop. "I'll get her doctor."

The two cops talked quietly while the nurse weaved her way through the maze of people and hospital equipment. "You really think that someone at that church might be involved with this?" asked the younger black cop.

The older cop shugged. "Right now, I'm just trying to follow through on every bit of info we get," he replied. "We've got so little on these women right now I'll just be happy when we find something that might give us an actual _lead."_

"I hear ya," the younger cop agreed sympathetically.

A doctor in a white coat was led to the two cops by the nurse in the pink scrubs. "I'm Doctor Richardson," the tall, white-haired elder gentlemen greeted the group. "How can I be of assistance?"

"How is she, doc?" asked the older cop.

"Severely dehydrated," the doctor replied. "Malnourished to a degree that I've rarely seen in this country. And yet..."

Something in the doctor's voice caught the younger cop's attention. "What is it?"

"She's got spunk, I can tell you that much. Whenever she can regain an ounce of energy she burns it off trying to fight our attempts to help her," the doctor explained. "We've had to keep her sedated and restrained since she was admitted."

"With what we know about her friend," the older cop added, "I'm not all that surprised."

The mention of a second girl instantly heightened the doctor's concern. "Her friend?"

"She was DOA," the older cop replied grimly. "We suspect the two women were being held against their will."

"It would make sense that she would fight those restraints, then," the doc agreed.

"Were you able to get anything...coherent out of her?" asked the younger cop.

The doc shook his head. "I'm sorry. When she was conscious she mostly screamed. The few words I heard were in a language I didn't recognize."

The older cop sighed in defeat. "We'd like to try and get her prints, if that's all right," he suggested to the doctor. "See if she's in the system anywhere."

The orderly panicked, hiding himself behind the room's solid wood door as the doctor nodded in ready agreement. "We'll help in any way we can..." The doctor's voice trailed off as a problem came to his mind. "She's still pretty dehydrated, though. That will affect the condition of the skin around her fingers. Will you be able to get a usable set of fingerprints?"

"We'd like to try," the younger cop persisted.

"All right, then," the doctor consented. He waved over the taller and much stronger-looking orderly that was in his immediate line of sight. "Dave, can you help these two detectives get Jane Doe's fingerprints?"

Dave agreed. "Sure, boss."

"Don't get in their way," the doctor warned. "But if she wakes up, I don't want her to get in a position where she can hurt anybody else."

"Anybody _else?_ " the younger cop exclaimed.

"That manicure of hers did some nasty damage to a nurse's face when she first regained consciousness," the doctor replied. "It's not a performance I care to see her repeat on either of you." The orderly sighed with relief as Dave led the two cops into the girl's room and the doctor moved away to tend to other patients. He abandoned the mop and its contents, leaving the task to be completed by another.

No one seemed to notice as the orderly confidently strode through the ward, then down two flights of stairs and out the emergency exit door...the only one with a broken alarm that maintenance never seemed to get around to fixing. It was a well-traveled path, familiar to most of the hospital staff as the route to the back alleyway where smokers took their all-important cigarette breaks. Why would it be a big deal for one more orderly to sneak away in the middle of the day so he could light up?

Except that 'light' was the furthest thing from this orderly's mind. His pace quickened as he made his way further down the alley. Flanking buildings caused long shadows to fall across the space even at noon. Those shadows seemed to shift in the orderly's presence, dissolving into a black fog that wrapped around the man's ankles as he walked, stretching and creeping up inch by inch until, within seconds, the orderly was consumed by the darkness that surrounded him.

What emerged from that darkness was not the same man that had entered it.

In fact, it wasn't a man at all.

The being was barely noticeable in the darkness, its black, membranous wings spreading wide to cover its appearance from tip to tail as he turned to face the back door of one of the alley's many empty buildings. Clawed talons carefully punched in the eight-digit security code that allowed the door to unlock with a soft _click._ The wings retracted just enough to allow the reptilian-looking being to fit through the human-size doorway, then opened and flapped occasionally as he raced through the darkened warehouse. His fear seemed to grow with his speed when he realized what the position of the sun meant for his level of tardiness. And when he remembered that his master considered tardiness as grounds for...well...

He put the thought out of his mind and doubled his pace, stopping only when he was within feet of his master's looming presence. He knelt down, lowering his snout and beating his fist against his leathery chest with a soft _thud._ "My Lord," he announced with a growl, "I bring the update that you requested."

"Rise and report," the master boomed.

The other being stood at attention but never allowed his gaze to leave the ground. "The humans seem to have taken the bait, my Lord. The living girl is in the hospital, currently receiving treatment. It appears that her arrival caused quite the scene. Gossip and slander have borne much fruit this day."

"And the condition of the girl?"

"Fear and anger are in full control, my Lord. She has been driven to the brink of madness."

The master did not seem as pleased by the news as his underling would have hoped. "The girl still has an important role to play," the master warned. "Do not let them take her before the proper time."

The underling beat his chest in a show of loyalty. "I swear it will be done as you have decreed."

"Good," the master agreed. He paced the room, his own wings twitching with what seemed to be an independent desire to take to the air. "Some of my other scouts have heard rumors," he explained. "Of a new watchman and guide being added to this city's many blessings."

This was not news to the underling. "I have heard this as well," he agreed. "Although...do these rumors not call him a devil? And accuse him of committing evil in the name of good?"

The master glared at his subordinate, unsure whether to blast the being to hell for his impertinence or to simply take what the worm said as supplementary information to what he already knew. "He is," said the master, finally choosing the latter. "But so far all I know of this watchman is what gossip has been able to bring me. I need you to discover who this man is and if he truly lives up to the name he has been honored with. See if he can be swayed to fight for our cause."

The underling swallowed hard, knowing his question could mean his destruction but desperate to ask it, anyway. "And what if he fights on the side of..."

The master smacked his underling across his face with a vicious intensity that sent the smaller being flying across the room. The master's wings opened and he jumped aloft, crossing the space with one powerful flap before the membranes retracted once again. He then pulled up his underling by his baggy, leathery-skinned neck. "Every human has a price," the master growled, "Find. It."

#

The hand on Matt Murdock's shoulder was the first thing he noticed.

The second thing that he noticed was that he felt like he was coming back from drowning.

He gasped loudly, his chest heaving as he drew in deep, panicked gulps of air. The touch moved from his shoulder to the space between his shoulder blades. _It's okay, buddy_ , Foggy's voice soothed in his mind. _You're all right now. Just take deep breaths and relax._

Matt focused on his Guide's thoughts like a lifeline, using the combination of sensations to bring him back to his present moment. "How long was I out for?" he asked as soon as he could find his voice.

"Less than a minute," Foggy replied.

Matt turned around to find both Foggy and Karen crowding the small space near the coffee station. "What happened?" asked Karen, the only other one in the group who seemed to be sharing Matt's confusion and concern.

"I _think_ you zoned out," Foggy replied on Matt's behalf.

"Zoned out?" asked Matt, confused at how Foggy seemed to have more information about his experience than he did.

Foggy nodded. "You focused so hard on what one of your senses were telling you that you got lost in it. The Guardians told me it was a possibility, but I think this is the first time I've seen one."

"Yeah, I think it's happened a couple of times in the mask," Matt agreed as his mind tried to process the information. "But not very often."

"Do you remember what you zoned out on?" asked Foggy.

A wistful smile crept across Matt's face. "Hearing," he replied.

 _Want to show me?_ Foggy asked in Matt's mind.

Matt replayed the memory for his Guide, whose awestruck expression seemed to match how he felt about the experience. "Oh my God," Foggy whispered...

"Yeah," Matt agreed.

"Do you have _any_ idea what that was?!" exclaimed Foggy.

Matt slowly sipped on his now-stone-cold coffee, his mind clearly still lost in the earlier moment. "I wish I knew. I really wish I knew..."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** : Any foreign words you don't recognize were auto-translated in Google Translate. This chapter will contain a couple of _very minor_ spoilers to Avengers: Age of Ultron. I'm assuming that anyone who cares has seen the movie already.

#

Dave led the two detectives into the girl's room, positioning himself at the head of her bed. "Ready when you are, gentlemen," he declared.

Brett drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the doctor's earlier words having set his nerves on edge. He then knelt beside the girl, hand card in hand, while his partner held the ink blotter. Mike then touched one of the girl's fingers, gently lifting it to try and get the finger's pad on the blotter...

The girl bolted upright as best she could with her arms and legs restrained. Brett and Mike jumped, startled by speed with which the girl had regained consciousness. Mike crouched down, holding up one hand to protect his face while reaching the other hand out to retrieve the abandoned ink blotter...

The girl screamed. A piercing howl of terror mixed with rage mixed with anguish that caused Brett to scramble behind his partner for cover.

Mike, for his part, abandoned the ink blotter as collateral damage, leaving the black ink to get smeared all over the bed as the girl thrashed about. He backed out of the room slowly, pushing his frightened junior partner out of the room as they went.

The two men let out matching sighs of relief when they were both on the hallway side of the closed hospital room door. It was only then, as the confusion was lifting, that Brett realized their terrible error.

They had left a man behind.

"Mike," Brett exclaimed in a harsh whisper, pointing a finger to the door and the angry sounds that were coming out from behind it, "Dave's still in there. We gotta get..."

"Shhhhhh," Mike insisted, quieting down the younger man. He seemed to be listening to the rapidly muffling sounds of the brave Dave, futily trying to soothe and calm the young woman, who was only responding with a stream of loud and angry curses. Mike's eyes lit up with recognition. "Son of a..."

"What?" asked Brett, clearly confused as to how that intense melee had seemed to inspire his partner.

Mike pulled out his cell phone. "It's Albanian. The language she's been cursing people out in. Our vic speaks Albanian."

Brett's eyes flew wide. "How the hell could you possibly know..."

"My wife's family's Albanian," Mike quickly countered. "She speaks it fluently. Trust me, you hear enough strings of Albanian curses, eventually you can start playing 'name that tune' with them..." The older cop turned his attention away from Brett to respond to the greeting on the other end of the line. "Hi honey. Listen, is there any way you could get _gjyshe_ to watch the kids for a while? Something's come up that I could _really_ use your help with..." Mike let out a deep sigh of gratitude and relief when the response seemed to be what he had hoped for. "I'm at Metro General. Third floor...You have no idea how much I appreciate this, hon. I'll see you in twenty minutes. Yeah, love you too. Bye."

Brett shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting as he watched his partner end the call. "Well?"

"She's on her way," Mike declared. "When Ari gets here I'm hoping she'll be able to translate for our vic."

"Maybe then we can start to finally get some answers," Brett agreed.

Mike's attention turned back to the room behind them. "Or at least we'll finally be able to get her to see that WE'RE NOT THE ENEMY HERE!" He then blushed as a string of angry curses could be heard from the room...and every single nurse within eyesight seemed to be giving Mike the evil eye. "Sorry," he apologized. "Angry Albanian always puts me on the defensive."

Brett chuckled sympathetically.

#

Mike met his wife at the elevator bank, greeting her with a warm and enveloping embrace. "Thank you for getting here so quickly."

Ari caught the same edge of concern in her husband's voice that she had noticed on the phone. "What's going on?" she asked.

Mike started his reply by introducing his new partner. "Brett, this is my wife, Ariana Hanson. Ari, this is my new partner Brett Mahoney."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Brett politely greeted the older woman.

Ari grabbed the offered hand and pulled the surprised Brett into a hug. "I've been a cop's wife a long time," Ari explained. "Partners are family in my book. So call me Ari..." Her voice trailed off as Ari felt Brett's youthful and well-defined muscles. "Unless you just want to call me mom?"

Brett chuckled, trying and failing to picture the warm and welcoming woman in front of him letting loose with a string of Albanian curse words. "It's nice to meet you...Ari."

Ari shared in Brett's amusement before returning her attention to her husband. "So what's going on? Why'd you need me to come down here in such a rush?"

Mike ushered his wife down the hall to the private room where Dave was standing guard at the door. "I need a translator," he replied.

Ari nodded, quickly putting the pieces together. "You have a witness that speaks Albanian?"

"Not a witness," Mike replied, his expression growing darker with the thought. "A survivor."

Ari's expression soon matched her husband's. "I see."

"Babe, we have almost no leads in this case right now, and until now nobody else has even recognized what _language_ this girl was speaking. If you can get through to her it might be the break that helps us get whoever did this to her."

Ari nodded. "Whatever I can do to help."

Mike looked relieved. "Thank you." He opened the door for his wife.

Ari gasped as she took in the condition of the young woman in the bed front of her. "My God," she whispered, "what the hell did they do to you..." She approached the bed tentatively, reaching out with gentle, polite words in what she prayed the girl would consider to be a soothing, calming voice. " _Mirëdita, zonjushe,_ " she greeted her. " _Emri im është Ariana."_

The girl turned her head toward Ari, smiling as the first words she had heard in anything close to a language that she understood. _"_ _Emri im është Marigona."_

Ari smiled warmly. "Marigona is a beautiful name," she thought out loud.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted the conversation. "I...didn't hear horror movie screams," Mike commented quietly as he led Brett into the room. "Is it safe for us to come in?"

Ari felt Marigona's hand grip hers tightly. _"_ _Mos të jetë i frikësuar_ ," Ari soothed. " _Ky është burri im, Mike. Ai dëshiron që t'ju ndihmojë_." When Mike frowned in clearly bewildered confusion, Ari turned her comfort in his direction. "I just told her you were my husband and that all you wanted to do was help."

 _"Polici,"_ Marigona argued, clearly terrified by the idea.

 _"Po, ai është një oficer i policisë,"_ Ari agreed. _"Por ai është edhe një njeri i mirë. Është në rregull."_ She then turned and translated for her husband. "She's...not a fan of cops."

Mike couldn't help letting out a bitter chuckle. "Neither are your parents."

Ari smirked at her husband...while Marigona stared at both of them, confused. _"Prindërit e mi nuk e pëlqen atë, ose,"_ said Ari.

Marigona's quiet chuckle seemed to let a bit of the tension out of the room...until her face fell and her brow furrowed with worry. "Sindi?" she asked.

Ari turned to her husband. "That's a name. Did she come in with another girl?" Mike grimly shook his head in response.

It was all the words that Marigona needed to see. Tears started to fall quietly down her face. _"_ _Sindi ishte e bukur për mua,"_ she explained, her voice growing weak and tingd with grief. _"Doja aq shumë për të marrë atë jashtë ferrit, por..._ " Marigona sighed, her lower lip trembling. _"Unë mendoj se nuk ishte menduar të jetë."_

Ari squeezed the bony hand back in a show of sympathy. " _Cila ishte ferr si?"_ she asked. _"Si keni arritur atje?"_ Turning back to Mike, Ari then explained, "I just asked her what happened."

Marigona drew in a deep breath, letting the air out of her lungs in a slow, shaky stream as she tried to gain some strength and temper her sadness so she could tell her story. "I was born in Sokovia," Ari explained, translating each phrase as Marigona spoke. "When the gods came..."

"Gods?" asked Mike.

Ari translated the question and got back Marigona's response. "I believe you call them...Avengers?" was Marigona's reply. When both Ari and Mike's heads nodded in recognition of the name, Marigona made the change in her story. "When the _Avengers_ came, they took everything from us. Those who lived were lucky to escape with the clothes on our backs."

"Where did you go?" Mike asked.

"An Albanian refugee camp," Marigona replied through Ari. "My father is...was Albanian. I learned the language from him."

"Is the camp how you got here?" asked Mike.

Ari translated her husband's question, and Marigona nodded. "A man came to the camp. He said that there were rich people in America who needed people to come over and watch their children while they rebuilt New York City. I thought there was something evil about him, but I have six brothers and sisters, and we were all so poor..." Marigona's voice trailed off for a moment as she thought about the family that she had left behind. "Thirty of us went with him. He was so nice, feeding us, helping us get cleaned up...buying us such pretty dresses. I thought we were getting ready for job interviews."

"But you weren't?"

Marigona shook her head. "The last thing we did at the camps was kiss our families goodbye before we got on an old school bus." Her face flushed with anger. "Once the camp was out of sight, he took all of our passports and strangled each one of us until we lost consciousness. Some of the weaker girls never left the bus alive."

"Jesus," Mike cursed.

Marigona understood the sentiment. "I woke up in a shipping container with the girls who survived. It was so dark...I couldn't tell you how long we were in there for. It felt like weeks. Each of us had a sleeve of crackers tied to our necks. We each tried to make them last as long as we could..." She took another strength-building pause before continuing her story. "I was asleep when we arrived. They woke us up with cattle prods. Threw us into cages. The kind you use to keep big animals contained when they travel. 'You are nothing but dogs,' they told us. 'You are only good to us as long as you can perform your 'tricks' on command. If you perform, you will live. If you don't...' We were already very aware of what would happen to us if we did not obey."

Mike's face was flush with fury and set with grim determination as he looked over his notes. "These men who kept you in these cages," he asked, "would you recognize them if you saw them again?"

"There were three of them," Marigona replied. "The two men who 'handled' us and a boss man who watched over them. Their faces will be burned into my soul for the rest of my days."

A knock at the door caused everyone to jump. All eyes were fixed on the new person as they timidly peeked around the slowly opening door. "I...I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" Father Lantom asked quietly. "I just wanted to..."

Marigona's face was awash in a mix of terror and fury. "GËNJESHTAR!" she screamed at Ari. "Ju tha se ai ishte njeri i mirë! Ju tha se ai mund të besohet! JU GËNJYER ME !"

Brett and Mike were fighting every temptation to reach for their weapons. "Ari," Mike asked in a warning tone, "what is she..."

"She...she thinks we lied to her," Ari explained, her thoughts scattering as she tried to explain the situation to her husband and come up with a defense to Marigona's charge at the same time. _"_ _Çfarë ka ndodhur?"_ she finally asked Marigona. " _Pse mendoni se kam gënjyer për ju?"_

 _"Ju solli djallin këtu !"_ Marigona exclaimed. _"Si mund ai të dini se ku isha në qoftë se ju nuk e thoni atë !"_

Mike watched, stunned, as his wife's face drained of color. "What?!" he demanded, his voice starting to rise to a panicked state.

Ari couldn't take her eyes off of Father Lantom. "She thinks we brought her back to the devil that kidnapped her," Ari explained to Mike. She raised a shaking hand and pointed it in the direction of the flower-bearing priest. "Him."


	7. Chapter 7

_"...But now stretch out your hand and strike everything he has, and he will surely curse you to your face."_

 _The LORD said to Satan, "Very well, then, everything he has is in your power, but on the man himself do not lay a finger." - Job 1:11-12_

#

 **A/N:** For the purposes of this story, I'm giving Father Lantom the first name of David, since as far as I can tell he's never been given a first name within Marvel comic canon. If I'm wrong about this, please leave me a message or comment and I will happily make the correction!

#

What most surprised Brett was how calm the priest seemed.

He knew he had originally gotten the case as the result of drawing the 'short straw'. No one had thought anything was going to come of it; it was supposed to just be a 'paper run' where they called Bellevue to have the men in white coats haul away the crazy lady who probably killed her friend. And the rest...the rest was just supposed to be paperwork. No one expected this to be an actual _case._ Especially not a high profile, potentially _huge_ deal kind of a case.

They sure as hell didn't expect their priest to walk into the precinct in handcuffs.

 _You could have heard a pin drop when I brought him in here,_ Brett thought, fidgeting uncomfortably as he remembered how all eyes were glued on him from the time that he had walked in the door until he finally took refuge in the relative privacy of the observation room adjacent to the 'box'. And it was in that 'box' that Father Lantom was now patiently waiting for him.

He should be going in guns blazing. It was possible that eighteen lives hung in the balance of the interrogation that he was about to enter. Eighteen young women who were being starved and tortured. Eighteen young women who were being raped and forced into prostitution to earn money for their captors.

Eighteen women who had watched far too many of their friends die.

If there were even eighteen of them left.

These were the thoughts that were going through Brett Mahoney's mind. He tried to use those thoughts as fuel. Tried to use those thoughts to stoke the flames of righteous anger...

But he took one last look at that serene expression and that damn collar and he just. Couldn't. Do it.

A hand on Brett's shoulder caused him to jump. "You sure you don't want to wait for Hanson to get back from the church, Mahoney?"

Brett shook his head before turning to the source of the now-familiar voice. "We can't afford to waste time, cap," he told his precinct commander. "Not if lives are at stake."

"Want me to come in the box with you?"

Brett shook his head a second time. "Catholics usually unburden themselves in confession, right? One on one with their priest?"

"That's right," the captain agreed.

"Then the interrogation needs to be one on one," Brett insisted. "Give the good father a chance to unburden _himself_."

The captain seemed to appreciate the logic behind Brett's plan. "I'll watch from out here, then. Promise me you'll step out if you have any problems?"

"I promise," Brett agreed. He drew in one last long breath, let it out slowly to steel his resolve, gathered his papers and walked into the box. "Do you understand your rights as they were read to you, Mister Lantom?" he announced methodically, forcing himself to not use their now-suspect's professional title.

"I do," Father Lantom agreed.

"And yet you have waived your right to counsel?" asked Brett.

Father Lantom nodded. "Clearly there has been some sort of a misunderstanding," he insisted. "Why would I need a lawyer if I haven't done anything wrong?"

"Let's see if that's true," Brett replied casually as he opened his file. "In your initial report, you claimed not to have met either the deceased, Sindi Jashari, or her fellow prisoner, Marigona Dushku, before the two women 'mysteriously' appeared in the pantry of Holy Cross church. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct," Father Lantom replied with a nod.

Brett pulled out a second piece of paper and studied it carefully. "Our records indicate that you traveled to Sokovia roughly three weeks ago. Is that correct?"

Father Lantom nodded a second time. "I was working with Catholic Relief Services," he explained. "Bringing humanitarian aid to the refugees there."

"Had you ever traveled to Sokovia before that trip?"

"Once or twice," Father Lantom replied, frowning in confusion at the question.

"Has 'Catholic Relief Services' done any work in Sokovia prior to those trips?" Brett pushed.

Father Lantom's frown deepened. "Yes, they've been there since the early 90s..."

"And how long have _you_ been involved with that work, Mister Lantom?"

"The past six months or so..." Father Lantom said warily.

"And during that time you are _sure_ that you had no contact with either of these girls?"

Father Lantom shook his head as his patience started to fray. "Sokovia may not be a very big country," he insisted, "but it's not a small village, either. When I tell you I didn't meet either of those young women in Sokovia, it's because _I didn't meet either of those young women in Sokovia."_

"Then how is it that Ms. Dushku almost instantly recognized you?" Brett argued.

"People have a tendency to not look past the collar," Father Lantom replied. "Many people think that all priests look alike. Especially _old_ priests."

"Uh huh," Brett grunted, seemingly unconvinced. His cell phone buzzed twice in rapid succession. When Brett looked down at the offending object, it quickly took the young detective's attention away from his suspect. After a few swipes across the device, though, Brett also knew that this was information he had to share _with_ his suspect. "Does the church own dogs, Mister Lantom?" asked Brett. "Large dogs? German shepherds, perhaps? To guard the grounds?"

Father Lantom was starting to wonder where the detective was going with his questioning. "No," he replied. "To my knowledge, the church has never owned guard dogs."

"That's odd," Brett mused casually, then took his phone and pushed it across the table to allow Father Lantom to look at his most recent messages. "Especially since my partner just discovered two dog cages in the toolshed at the back of the gardens." Brett then stood up, pushing his chair in before sitting casually on the oorner of the table, allowing him to look down on the older man. "You know, the ME says that these girls were kept in cages that look _just_ like this one."

Father Lantom swallowed hard as a sudden wave of nerves overwhelmed him. "I've...I've never seen those cages before..."

"Where are the girls?" asked Brett, his tone urgently pressing for an answer to his question. "If we find them alive, it's going to be a lot better for you than if any more of them die before we get to them..."

Father Lantom felt like he had been sucker punched. "You can't possibly think that I..."

"Where. Are. They."

Father Lantom's face drained of color as he took in every implication hidden within Brett's demand. "I...I don't think I should say anything else until I've spoken with a lawyer."

#

The captain smiled when he saw Father Lantom ask for a lawyer. "I doubt even he believes in his innocence much anymore," he declared to the shadows behind him. "We will destroy the remnant before it's ever had a chance to form."

"Allowing the darknessssss to spread unchecked," the shadows hissed. "Exsssssellent..."

#

An hour later, Father Lantom got up from the table to embrace his old friend. "Joe," he warmly greeted his fellow priest, "thank you so much for coming."

Father Joseph Imbruglio didn't return his friend's embrace. "Sit down, Dave," he told Father Lantom. "We need to talk."

The hard, dour tone in the elder priest's voice filled Father Lantom with dread. _What's going on here, Lord?_ he prayed. "What is it, Joe? I mean, I know this looks bad, but..."

"It doesn't just look bad," Father Imbruglio insisted, cutting Father Lantom off. "It looks _disastrous._ The press wants to call you Big Pimpin', the Kiiller Priest." Father Lantom let out an almost involuntary chuckle at the name before Father Imbruglio's ice-cold glare cut him off. "His Eminence has called in every favor he's ever curried with the press just to keep your name out of the spotlight so far."

Father Lantom collapsed back into his chair, awestruck and humbled by the idea of the Cardinal working on his behalf. "That...that's incredibly generous of him..."

"He didn't do it for _you,"_ Father Imbruglio insisted. "He did it for the good of the church."

"Of...of course," Father Lantom relented, quietly muttering the words under his breath. _Lord, give me strength,_ he prayed.

Father Imbruglio sat across from his fellow clergyman, sighing with a sympathetic weariness. "Look, Dave...these are incredibly serious charges. And I'm not a criminal attorney. I can't take on a case like this. The _church_ can't take on a case like this. But if we let this go any longer..."

Father Lantom's face fell as he stared in disbelief at the man he had believed to be a dear friend...before this conversation. "You can...you couldn't _possibly_ believe that I'm capable of doing those awful things that they've accused me of doing?" he exclaimed. The look on Father Imbruglio's face, though, told Father Lantom the awful truth. " _Can you?!"_

"We can't let this go to trial," Father Imbruglio insisted, unable to look Father Lantom in the eye. "With everything that's happened before this...it would shatter people's faith. We can't let that happen..."

Father Lantom cut the other priest off, getting his attention by angrily smacking his hand down on the table. _"I DIDN'T DO ANY OF THOSE HORRIBLE THINGS,"_ he insisted, his voice practically screaming with desperate passion. " _DO YOU BELIEVE ME OR NOT?!_ "

Father Imbruglio finally lifted his head up to look his old friend in the eye. "I'm going to talk to the District Attorney's office in the morning," he declared, his voice devoid of any emotion save regret. "If you're lucky, his Eminence will allow you to keep your collar so you can minister to the souls in prison beside you."

 _A plea?_ thought Father Lantom, stunned. _They want me to plead guilty? To lie?!_ He played the story in his mind out to the terrible conclusion that was being laid before him. _I need your wisdom more than ever, Lord,_ he prayed. _What do I do now?_

 _Come out on the water,_ a voice whispered back.

As Father Lantom's mind continued to be tempted to spiral off into the darkness of despair, his soul clung to that voice as his last inspired shred of hope. "No," he declared simply and quietly.

Father Imbruglio blinked back his disbelief at the word. "No?"

Father Lantom shook his head. "No," he repeated. "You are not going to talk to the District Attorney. You are no longer going to act as my counsel or on my behalf...if you ever planned to act on _my_ behalf at all."

The elder priest sat back in his chair, stunned by the open defiance of his spiritual brother. "Are...are you planning to act as your own counsel, then?" he stammered, knowing that even Father Lantom knew how foolish such an action would be.

Father Lantom shook his head. "I have other counsel I can turn to. Counsel that will fight _for_ me and not _against_ me."

Father Imbruglio was almost speechless. 'His...His Eminence will not be pleased..."

 _His Eminence can go to hell,_ Father Lantom thought angrily. He quickly tamped the thought down, though, calming his fury by pulling a verse from the Psalms to the front of his mind. _Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,_ he forced himself to think, _for you are with me._ "Joe, I will humbly take whatever punishment his Eminence wants to hand out to me once this is all over," Father Lantom declared, "But for now...you're fired."

Father Imbruglio sighed wearily, getting up from his chair to leave his old friend to his fate. "I hope you know what you're doing, Dave," he warned Father Lantom before leaving the man behind.

Father Lantom matched his former friend's sigh after the older man had left. "So do I," he breathed out, as much a prayer as a comment. "So do I."

Brett couldn't help but notice the scowl on the face of Father Lantom's counsel as the man left. "Didn't go as well as you'd hoped?" he teased.

"I fired him," Father Lantom replied, his voice clearly showing his disappointment. "He didn't have my best interests at heart."

Brett couldn't help it; regardless of the charges against him, he felt sorry for the old man. "Know what you're gonna do now?" he asked.

Father Lantom looked up at the younger man with a hopeful expression. "I know I'm only supposed to be allowed one phone call, but is there any way..."

"I can make the call for you," Brett offered. "Who do you need to reach?"

"A parishoner," replied Father Lantom, "And, hopefully, a better friend than my last attorney."

"What's his name?" asked Brett.

"Murdock," said Father Lantom. "His name's Matt Murdock."

#

 **A/N #2:** It's probably no big surprise to anyone, but Father Lantom was quoting Psalm 23:4. Evenmoor mentioned in a comment that it's her favorite Bible verse, and when you consider how dark Father Lantom's "valley of the shadow of death" currently is, I thought it fitting. Hope you do, too! :-D


	8. Chapter 8

The chaos of the Manhattan Criminal Court building was nothing new to Matt Murdock. He let his cane tap out a mostly clear path between the gallery and the front of the courtroom and trusted in the cane's attention-attracting abilities to take care of moving the remaining human elements out of his way. Father Lantom was by his side by the time the court officer announced their case:

"Docket number 161121323, people v. Father David Michael Lantom. Charges are 2 counts each of kidnapping, assault, pandering and false imprisonment and one count of negligent homicide."

"Luke Fallon for the people, your honor," the prosecutor identified himself.

"Matt Murdock and Franklin Nelson for the defense, your honor," added Matt, following the prosecutor's lead.

The judge's eyes widened as he briefly read the front page of the folder that had been handed to him. "These are very serious charges, Father," he commented. "How do you plead?"

"Not guilty, your honor," Father Lantom declared.

"Bail application?" asked the judge.

Fallon's gaze remained fixed on the judge. "Your honor, due to the nature of the charges we request that the defendant be remanded without bail."

"A Catholic priest?!" exclaimed Foggy, rolling his eyes before trying to stare down the prosecutor. "What do you think he's going to do, charter a private plane out of the country?"

Matt ignored his partner's outburst, choosing instead to plead his case directly to the judge. "Your honor, my client is willing to surrender his passport and wear an anklet restricting his movements to his parish and the rectory next door."

The judge raised an eyebrow, surprised and slightly skeptical of the offered conditions. "And the church has agreed to this?"

"While my client is on suspension pending the outcome of this trial," Matt replied, "he _is_ still a priest. The church is his home, and for the moment the Archdiocese is graciously allowing him to continue to treat it as such."

Fallon's outrage seemed to be growing by the second. "Your honor, we have a witness that will testify that this man held her against her will and forced her..."

The judge stopped the prosecutor's rant before his anger could fully explode. "This is neither the place nor the time to be trying your case, counselor. It's just a bail hearing."

"My client is _no_ flight risk, your honor," Matt insisted. "And if you've ever seen a priest's living quarters you'd know that they're not that much better than a cell at Rikers."

"C'mon," Foggy added in a desperate attempt to sound persuasive. "Save the city the cash, your honor..."

A gentle breeze blew through the courtroom. Most people assumed that it was just the air conditioning kicking in. Matt, though, gasped as he watched the golden aura that came in on that breeze...and heard that aura speak. _Split the difference,_ the aura's 'voice' whispered in the judge's ear as it gently wound its way around the judge's head. _Half million._

The judge never took his eyes off of the folder in front of him. "I'm inclined to agree with your argument, Mister Murdock," he complimented Matt. "However, I also have to take the severity of these charges into account. So I'm going to split the difference. If the Archdiocese is willing to offer sanctuary to Father Lantom then they can have him. But first, he's going to have to post $500,000 bail."

Fallon nodded in begrudging agreement with the judge's decision, as did Foggy. When Foggy noticed that his partner seemed to have been stunned into something resembling paralysis, he took charge of wrapping up their end of the proceedings. "Thank you, your honor," he told the semi-oblivious judge. Foggy then entered his Sentinel's mind while leading Matt away so the judge could tend to the next case. _Matt? Maaaaatt..._

Foggy's mind-voice pierced through the mental fog. Matt shook his head, trying to knock the cobwebs off of his focus as his mind returned to the present. _Did I zone out again?_ he asked Foggy.

 _Looks like it,_ Foggy replied. _What's the last thing you remember?_

 _Foggy,_ Matt began, his mind-voice hesitating, _We had...help...getting Father Dave out on bail._

 _Tell me about it,_ Foggy joked. _I was so sure that he was going to get remanded I owe Karen ten..._

Matt shook his head. _I'm not talking about the judge,_ he insisted. _It was an entirely *different* form of help._

Foggy let out his own gasp as he watched Matt's memory of the hearing play out before his eyes. _Just when I think I'm getting the hang of things,_ the Guide grumbled. _Any idea what that was?_

 _Not a clue,_ Matt replied. _It looked a little bit like when one of the Guardians reads somebody's mind..._

 _But there weren't any Guardians in the gallery,_ countered Foggy. _Or were there?_ Matt shook his head. _So how do you want to handle this?_

"First things first," Matt declared. "We need to go talk to our client and figure out how a priest who's taken a vow of poverty is going to come up with half a million dollars..."

#

Father Lantom was signing his few personal effects out by the time Matt and Foggy caught up with him in central booking. Foggy stared at the man in disbelief. "How in the world...?"

"I know a guy," Father Lantom replied with a casual shrug.

Foggy wasn't buying it. "You know a guy who could front you _a half a million dollars_ in the time that it took us to get from arraignment to central booking?!"

Father Lantom simply smiled. "I suppose you could say that the Lord works in mysterious ways," he replied.

Matt, for his part, decided not to ask the priest about it until after the three men were safely ensconced in the back of a taxi and on their way to the church. "How'd you _really_ come up with the money, Father?"

"Like I said," Father Lantom insisted. "I _know a guy._ Let's just call him a...mutual friend."

The last two words stopped Matt's thoughts in their tracks. He chuckled, shaking his head in amazement as the pieces all clicked into place. "Why you sneaky old son of a..."

"Ah ah ah," Father Lantom warned teasingly. "Language!"

Foggy's head swiveled completely from right to left as he looked to men that were sitting on either side of him. "Did I miss a..."

"He's part of the Network, Foggy," Matt answered Foggy's unspoken question. "I'm guessing he got the money from the same source as our retainer."

"Close enough," Father Lantom agreed with a chuckle.

Foggy was still trying to process what Matt had just told him. "You're _Network?!_ " he exclaimed. "That means you know the..."

"Shhhhhh!" Father Lantom warned Foggy in a harsh whisper, tilting his head in the direction of the cab driver. "Not here!"

The taxi pulled up to the church, allowing the three men to exit the car and continue their conversation in a more private setting...which Foggy seemed extremely anxious to do. "You're _Network?!_ " he asked as soon as the three men entered the conference room.

Father Lantom nodded. "Been around since the beginning."

Foggy shook his head, still trying to process what he had just heard. "Wha...how?!"

"I'm kinda curious, myself," Matt added. "You don't exactly seem the type to be hanging out in secret clubhouses with superheroes."

"Present company excluded, then?" Father Lantom teased with a smirk.

"Touché," agreed Matt.

Father Lantom invited the two men to pull up chairs and sit down. "We're not too far from Times Square here," he explained. "Probably three-fourths of this parish watched those dragons try to burn this city down. We hosted some of the first support groups."

It was then that Foggy caught up with the priest's earlier comment. "Wait, he knows about _you,_ too?" he asked Matt.

"He's my _priest_ , Foggy," Matt replied with a chuckle. "Of course he knows."

Foggy couldn't help but shake his head in amazment. "Wow," he exclaimed.

"Father...Father Lantom?"

The three men looked up to see a middle-aged woman standing in the stairwell's doorframe. Father Lantom recognized the woman immediately...and also noticed the decidedly mixed emotions crossing the younger woman's face. "Emma?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

Emma let out a bitter chuckle. "Shouldn't I be the one asking _you_ that question?" Her face fell just as quickly as it had lightened. "I heard about the suspension."

Father Lantom nodded. "They send an interim yet?"

"He'll be here in the morning," Emma replied.

"How's the church taking it?" he asked.

Emma shrugged. "Some people are calling for your head. Most don't seem to know what to think."

"What about you?" asked Father Lantom. "What do _you_ think?"

"I've known you a long time, Father," Emma replied. "I've been told I know you too long to be 'objective' about all this...but I believe that you are a _good_ man. You couldn't possibly have done this."

Father Lantom smiled as his heart filled with gratitude. "I think I really needed to hear that," he admitted. "Thank you."

"I'm not the only one who believes in you, Father," Emma volunteered. "There aren't a whole lot of us, maybe a dozen...but we haven't stopped praying for justice to be served since you were arrested."

"Then maybe we should start putting some of those prayers to work," declared Matt.

Father Lantom stepped back to let Emma see the other two men in the room as he made introductions. "Emma, I'd like you to meet Matt Murdock and Franklin Nelson, my attorneys."

Emma nodded her head in acknowledgement. "I've noticed you at mass a few times, Mister Murdock," she told Matt. "It's nice to finally be able to place a name to the face."

"It's nice to meet you, Emma," Matt replied.

"You were there when Father Lantom found the girls, weren't you?" asked Foggy, remembering something that he had read in the police report. Emma nodded, so Foggy acted on a stray thought he heard cross Matt's mind. "Can you show us where that was?"

"Sure," Emma agreed. "We found them downstairs in the pantry." She led the three men down down the stairs and through the tight kitchen spaces until they got to the small walk-in 'closet' in the back corner of the room. "I don't know how those girls could have gotten down here without somebody seeing them, myself..." she mused.

Foggy looked around the small space and found himself inclined to agree...until he saw the small window over the sink. "Where does that window lead?" he asked.

"The street," Emma replied. "If they got in or out that way someone would have seen them."

"In New York City?" Foggy countered. Emma shrugged.

Father Lantom noticed an odd look cross Matt's face and quickly realized that four was probably a crowd. "Could you give us a minute, Emma?" the priest asked his assistant.

Emma's eyebrows raised in curious surprise at the dismissal, but when she saw the expression on her boss' face, she obeyed his direction and excused herself. "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

Matt seemed relieved when he heard Emma's footsteps moving away from the top of the staircase. "Thank you."

Father Lantom blew off the expression of gratitude. "I noticed something grab your attention the minute you came down here. What are you..." His voice trailed off when he realized he didn't really know what word to use. "Seeing? Sensing..."

Matt chuckled at his priest's awkwardly phrased question before returning to the evidence that his senses had brought to his attention. He set the cane aside and removed his glasses before entering the small pantry space to let his sense of touch verify what his 'sight' was telling him. "I think I might know how the girls got in here."

Father Lantom's eyes widened at Matt's declaration. "How?"

"I'm sure you know that there are all sorts of tunnels that run underneath the city?" asked Matt.

Father Lantom nodded. "This church was built on the remains of an old speakeasy from the '20s..."

"There's an entrance to those tunnels on the other side of this wall," said Matt. He turned to his partner. "But it only opens from the tunnel side."

Foggy caught the hint right away, moving around the kitchen island until he had an unobstructed view of his partner...and the 'door' behind him. "Show me."

Matt left the pantry and stood next to his partner on the other side of the door before letting his Guide into his head. "You see it, now?" he asked.

Foggy nodded. "Yeah, I see it." He reached his hand out toward the pantry's back wall, adding his own gift to his Sentinel's sensory 'net'. "That's the button? On the tunnel wall to my left?"

"I think so, yeah," Matt replied.

Foggy 'pressed' the button...and the pantry's back wall shifted with a soft click.

Father Lantom approached the 'wall' tentatively...and gasped as the wall rotated on a center hinge when he pushed on it. "My God," he whispered, a prayer, a moment of worship and an exclamation of amazement wrapped up in the simple two-word phrase. "How...how did you _do_ that?"

"When I mentioned superheroes earlier," Matt explained, nodding in Foggy's direction, "I wasn't the only one I was talking about."

Father Lantom looked to the two men in the kitchen, then to the wall and back again. He was very well aware that there were many, many miracles that he would never get an explanation for...at least, not until he got a chance to ask God about them in heaven.

This was not one of those miracles.

"Start from the beginning," the priest insisted excitedly. "Don't leave _anything_ out."

#

 **A/N:** I promise, this will be the only time I say this...but if _you_ want to hear the whole story from the beginning (with no detail left out), read "Watchmen" (available on my author page).


	9. Chapter 9

An hour later, Father Lantom was alone in the kitchen, staring at the open 'secret' that was now staring back at him from the back wall of the parish pantry. He sipped at the glass of water in his hand without ever looking at it. "A door," he mused out loud. "My life and my freedom are in jeopardy over some old, secret door...there's gotta be a sermon in there, somewhere..."

"Father?"

The priest looked up to see his trusty assistant standing at the foot of the stairs. "You're still here, Emma?" he asked. "It's awfully late."

"When you didn't come back upstairs right away, I decided to catch up on some paperwork," Emma explained. "After the paperwork was done I prayed for a bit. But then when I didn't see you come back up I got worried." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the faint trace of light coming out of the pantry from an unexpected angle. Emma circled around the table and stopped, dumbfounded, when she saw the source of that faint trace of light. "That...that wasn't like that when we came down here," she commented.

"That would be correct," Father Lantom deadpanned.

"How...?"

"How indeed," he agreed, sipping his water.

Emma made his way past Father Lantom to examine the pantry's 'new doorway' for herself. She gasped and jumped back when she pushed the back wall of the pantry and it swung slightly on its center hinge. "Is...is this how the girls got in here?!" she exclaimed.

"I believe so, yes," Father Lantom quietly agreed.

Emma backed into the cold steel of the kitchen table as she backed out of the pantry, her eyes never leaving the 'door' as she moved. "We...we've gotta tell the police about this, don't we? I mean...I mean...this is _important,_ isn't...isn't it..."

Father Lantom bitterly rolled his eyes, grabbing at his assistant's hand to get her attention. "Think, Emma!" he exclaimed, cutting off the woman's babbling. "If we tell _anybody_ that this door exists, what are they going to think?"

It didn't take long for Emma to understand the repercussions of the action that she had just been so hell-bent on taking. "They'll think this is the way _you_ took the girls in and out of the church," she realized. Father Lantom nodded. "It'll only make you look more guilty." Father Lantom nodded again.

Emma then frowned when the realized what the next logical question had to be. "Come to think of it," she asked, trying to ignore the nervous knot that was starting to form in her stomach, "how _did_ you discover that this door..."

Her question was cut off when the shadows of two men caught Emma attention. She wheeled back around to see one man dressed all in black, his face and head covered by a black hood and black translucent face mask...and a second man whose appearance was unmistakeable, even though she was meeting the man for the first time. "You...you...you...you're _Daredevil!"_ Emma exclaimed. Matt gave a curt nod, but neither he nor Foggy spoke.

Father Lantom, though, spoke to both men. "Godspeed and good luck, gentlemen," he told them. "I'll be praying for you from here."

Emma gawked shamelessly as the two men gave her boss a nod of acknowledgement before disappearing through the pantry to...God only knew where. She watched the men disappear from her sight before transferring her astonishment from the vigilantes to her stone-faced boss. "What...what are they doing here?!" she exclaimed.

"They heard about the girls' plight," Father Lantom stated matter-of-factly. "They came to help."

Emma's eyes lit up when she realized what, she hoped, was the other possible answer to her earlier question. "Did...did _they..._ "

"What do you think?" asked Father Lantom.

Emma smiled briefly and sighed with relief...until she saw that the expression on Father Lantom's face hadn't changed. _Why does he look like he just sent his children off to war?_ thought Emma. "Father?"

"Will you pray with me?" the priest asked Emma. "For them?" Emma nodded, and Father Lantom knelt down beside his assistant, leading her in prayer. **"** Blessed Michael, Archangel, defend our allies in this hour of conflict; be their safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil..."

#

Foggy had to resist every urge to gawk at the seemingly endless maze of white-washed tunnels that Matt was leading him through. _These tunnels must go through half the city,_ he thought.

 _They do,_ Matt agreed.

 _You think that's how the real smugglers moved the girls?_ asked Foggy.

 _It's how I'd do it,_ thought Matt.

Foggy knew that he, too, also agreed with that logic. _Hey, how'd you know about these tunnels, anyway?_

 _When we were going after Fisk,_ Matt explained, _I had to try to get information out of that Russian, Vladimir Ranskahov. Fisk, however, preferred to blow up the Russians rather than let me get information out of Ranskahov. I found one of the tunnels underneath an abandoned building and used it to keep Vladimir alive while we both tried to escape Fisk._ Matt felt his Guide's mood darken as both of their memories went back to that dark time. _Vladimir led us to Owlsley..._

 _And we would never have gotten Fisk if we hadn't connected the two of them together,_ added Foggy. _I know. I just..._

Matt instantly understood the sentiment. _Yeah, I know._ He stopped moving and halted his partner with a hand on Foggy's chest. _You hear that?_

 _Clanging?_ asked Foggy.

Matt shook his head. _Underneath the clanging. It sounds like..._

 _Crying,_ thought Foggy.

 _I think that's them,_ Matt agreed. He zeroed in on the sound and used it as a homing beacon. _This way._

The two men quickened their pace...stopping only when Matt halted Foggy at the entrance to what looked to be one of the larger 'hub' spaces. _They're down there,_ Matt declared.

 _We gonna try to get them out?_ asked Foggy.

 _You want to leave them down there?_ Matt countered.

Foggy shook his head. _What's the plan, then?_

 _Long range attack first,_ Matt replied. _If you think you can handle it._

Foggy drew in a deep breath and let it out as slowly and silently as he dared. _I can handle it,_ he declared. _But I need my eyes back._ The two men backed out of their connection, and Foggy peered over the edge of the tunnel floor ...which was when Foggy realized the mistake he had made. "Okay, I was wrong," he admitted in a harsh whisper, "it's pitch freakin' black down there." Matt had to resist the urge to chuckle as he re-established the connection to his Guide.

An unearthly howl pierced the air, chilling Foggy to the bone. _Okay, what was *that*?!_

Matt took his turn peering over the edge...and into the blackness. A vortex of swirling, twisting darkness that felt like it was going to creep in and take over his very soul...

He remembered that darkness.

He knew he would never _forget_ that darkness.

And there was one thing that Matt knew, as surely as he knew his own name:

He could never _defeat_ that darkness.

"Foggy," Matt announced, the terror evident in his voice. "We gotta go. NOW!"

The two men took off, running in the direction that they had just come from. Foggy's 'real' vision kept cutting in and out as the connection between Sentinel and Guide frayed from the fear that they were both feeling. A loud _thump_ caught Foggy's attention. He looked back...

and saw what was following them.

Glowing yellow eyes. Snarling fangs that seemed to glow on their own. Skin as black as the darkness that surrounded them. Leathery wings that were so big that they scraped against the top and sides of the tunnel...and yet never seemed to slow them down. And swirling around them, pushing before them and trailing behind them was smoke. Swirling tendrils of black smoke that he knew far, far too well.

Foggy waved his hand, causing the tunnel behind Matt to collapse as they ran. He stopped to catch his breath, thinking he had contained the danger on the other side of the rubble..

Until the smoke started to seep through the cracks in the debris.

Matt pushed Foggy forward, causing both men to pour every ounce of energy they had into running for their lives. Every few feet Foggy would try to collapse another section of the tunnel.

Their pursuers barrelled through the debris like it was never there.

The appearance of the swiveling pantry door was a sigh of relief and a breath of inspiration to run for the safety of the church. Matt pushed his tiring Guide, trying to will his energy through their link. _C'mon, Foggy,_ he thought, _we're almost there..._

 _#_

An earth-shattering roar seemed to split the air in two as the two men flew through the pantry and landed face-first on the floor of the kitchen. The beings pursuing them slammed into the pantry as if the back wall were invisible and whole. One eye stared through each side of the tunnel entrance as the being grunted and snarled with its frustration at not being able to get any closer to its prey.

That prey was catching its breath, rolling over and sitting up with a weary groan as adrenaline was slowly being replaced by fatigue. Foggy rolled his neck before looking back at the place they had only just barely escaped from...then closed the door on that blackness with a wave of his hand. "Man," he sighed with relief. "I didn't think we were going to get out of that one..."

"Uh...Mister..."

A nervous knot instantly formed in Foggy's stomach when the voice that responded to his comment was not that of his best friend. He turned around slowly, scared of what he was going to find when he finally faced Matt...

What Foggy saw chilled him to the core and motivated him to action like nothing else possibly could. "Oh God," he gasped, horrified by the deep gashes in Matt's back where blood was already pooling. Foggy reached underneath his friend's collar, relieved when he still found a pulse...weak though it was. "Thank God, he's still alive."

"I'll call 911," Emma volunteered.

"NO!" Foggy exclaimed, remembering the last time he saw his friend in a similar state. Earlier revelations flooded his mind, leading Foggy to turn to the stunned priest. "You know who he needs. Call them." When Father Lantom immediately pulled out his phone, Foggy returned his attention to his best friend, scared by the way that their connection seemed to be fading by the second. "Hurry...I don't think he has much time..."


	10. Chapter 10

The being that appeared in the kitchen wasn't the one that Father Lantom was expecting. "Who are you?" he blurted out without thinking.

Henry Morgan wasn't surprised or distracted by the response. He moved quickly over to the steel kitchen island where Foggy had moved Matt after his collapse. "The Guardians are off-world at the moment," Henry replied, immediately shifting the bulk of his attention to the gravely injured man. "I'm covering for Mistress Yīzhì in the interim."

Foggy watched Henry's every move, worriedly studying Matt's injuries for any sign of improvement as the older man seemed to fall into some sort of trance state. "Is he...?"

"Shhh!" Henry warned, forcing himself to keep his focus on his patient.

Foggy obeyed Henry with great reluctance, gnawing on his fingernails to keep from speaking as he watched the ministrations of the man that, he hoped, was a healer worthy of 'covering' for the Guardian. He only sighed with relief when he saw Matt's back fully whole and healed.

Father Lantom, though, noticed how much the healing seemed to take out of the man who had performed the miracle in question. "Are _you_ okay?" he asked Henry.

Henry drew in a deep breath and let it out in a slow, shaky stream. "I'll be fine," he insisted.

Father Lantom didn't seem to be buying it...especially when he noticed the blood that was slowly starting to seep through the man's back. _Who do you call when the *healer* is the one who's hurt?_ he mused...

Henry shook off the priest's obvious concern. "My healing process is slightly different from Mistress Yīzhì's," he explained between shallow breaths. "And your friend here was quite gravely injured. I just...I need a moment."

Matt and Henry both seemed to fully recover at the same time. Matt, for his part, rolled over and sat up with a groan. The first person that he sensed came as something of a surprise. "Doctor Morgan?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Healing your sorry ass," Foggy spat out angrily. "What the hell happened back there?!"

"I'd like to know that myself, to be honest," Henry agreed, more curious than angry. "It's not often you find someone in the middle of New York City who appears to have been mauled by a bear."

"Show him," Matt told Foggy.

Foggy eyed his Sentinel warily. "Is it...?"

"It's still there," Matt declared. "I have no idea what's keeping it at bay, but it seems like it can't go past the tunnels."

Foggy relutcantly opened the pantry door with an impatient wave of his hand.

Henry raised an eyebrow in surprise at the door's independent motion, smiling and nodding to Foggy in a show of respect. "Very impressive," he complimented. "Psychokinesis?"

Foggy nodded, his expression still showing his displeasure at what his Sentinel had asked him to do. "Go on," he nudged Henry.

Henry cautiously moved past Emma and Father Lantom, positioning himself so he could get a clear view of the pantry...and the beast that lie in wait just past the tiny room's open back wall. "My God," he gasped. "Is that...it that what attacked you?!"

Father Lantom frowned at Henry, clearly confused by the healer's shock. "I don't see anything," he commented.

Curious by the discrepancy, Emma peeked around the corner to investigate for herself. "Yeah, I don't see anything either," she agreed.

"You...you don't see that?" Henry asked, surprised. Father Lantom and Emma both shook their heads, so Henry turned back to Matt and Foggy. "But you do?"

Foggy nodded. "I don't think I'll ever forget it," he agreed with a shudder.

"What...what is it?" asked Henry.

"It's a demon."

Matt, Foggy and Henry all turned in the direction of the casual declaration. The man that they saw sitting on the staircase seemed to fill the hallway with his imposing size. "And you would know that because...?" Foggy asked skeptically.

"I think he's an angel," Matt replied.

That may have been the last words that Foggy expected to hear. "You're an _angel?!"_

Emma watched the exchange with a sense of growing frustration. "Who in the world are you guys talking to?!" she exclaimed.

"She can't see me, Sentinel," the 'angel' told Matt. "Neither can Father Lantom."

Matt nodded in acknowledgement of the information. "Can you give us a few minutes, Father?" he asked the priest.

Father Lantom warily nodded, consenting mostly because of his faith in Matt and his gifts. "You'll explain all of this to me, sometime?"

Matt smiled. "I promise. As best I can."

Father Lantom nodded, leading Emma out of the kitchen and up the stairs without ever noticing or intruding on the 'angel's' space.

Once Matt heard the pair moving away from the stairs, he began the conversation anew. "Was I right?" he asked. " _Are_ you an angel?"

"I am," he admitted. "Lieutenant Guilo, second-in-command of the Heavenly Host. At your service, Sentinel."

"An _angel?_ " Foggy asked, still trying to process the idea.

"You were expecting wings?" Guilo teased. Shimmering, nearly transparent wings emerged from his back and unfurled past his shoulders. "Will these do?"

"Holy crap!" exclaimed Foggy, staring at the wings in amazement. Matt chuckled.

Henry's curiosity was far more focused on the Sentinel than the angel. "How can _you_ tell?" he asked Matt.

"Are you familiar with the concept of auras, Doctor Morgan?" Matt countered.

Henry nodded, the question itself pulling many of the puzzle pieces into place. "I've been told my aura is quite distinctive," he said.

"I have recently discovered that I have the ability to read auras," Matt explained. "And you're right. Your aura is unique. As is that of our new friend over there."

"But it's not just auras, is it?" asked Guilo.

Matt shook his head, suspecting that the angel was already well aware of the answer to his question. "Lately I've been sensing more and more things that I had no explanation for. They were you, weren't they?"

"Me and my my comrades," Guilo agreed with a shrug. He stood up, moving away from the stairs to lessen the awkward distance between them.

Foggy gawked shamelessly when he realized how far _up_ he had to look to talk face-to-face with the angel. "Wow, you're tall!" he exclaimed.

"And you and Sentinel are still wearing your masks," Guilo countered. He leaned in, mimicing the gestures of a conspiratorial whisper as he teased, "it's kind of silly to hide your identities from someone who knows who you are, isn't it?"

Matt chuckled lightly, accepting the teasing in stride. He swung his legs over the edge of the kitchen counter, shifting his weight just to free up his hands so he could remove his mask while Foggy removed his.

Henry smiled, shaking his head in amazement even as his suspicions were confirmed. "Nelson and Murdock," he declared. "Guide and Sentinel, as well as attorneys at law?"

"You remember us?" asked Matt.

"How could I not?" Henry countered. "Having a blind man stare at you like that is something of an unforgettable experience." The proverbial lightbulb seemed to go off over Henry's head as a realization struck him. "That's why you were staring at me that day, was it not? You were reading my aura?"

Matt nodded. "I didn't realize it at the time, but yes, that's what I was doing."

A different realization seemed to be striking Guilo. "You're _blind?_ " he asked Matt.

Matt nodded again. "You didn't know?"

Guilo shook his head. "My comrades and I are often told things on something of a need-to-know basis." The angel started to study Matt carefully. "When information like this is hidden from me, it's often so I can learn a lesson when it's uncovered."

"What's the lesson you're supposed to learn from me?" asked Matt, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the way the angel was looking at him.

Guilo smiled. "To trust in the wisdom and creativity of God's plan."

Now Henry was the one who was confused. "I don't follow."

"You're familiar with the concept of sensory compensation?" Matt asked Henry. When Henry nodded, Matt continued, "Doctor Sandburg's theory is that I've developed a hypersensitivity to the spiritual plane to compensate for my blindness."

"He's right," Guilo agreed. "But I suspect there's another reason you were given this particular gift."

"Which is?" asked Matt.

Guilo pointed to the pantry door. "You weren't the target of the demon's attack." He then pointed to Foggy. "He was."

Foggy's face paled. "Me?! Why?!"

Matt understood the danger immediately. "His aura," he told Guilo. "When the demon saw it he mistook Foggy for one of you."

"Your Guide has a target on his back, as do the others. And if you weren't able to recognize demons on sight..."

"I wouldn't be able to protect him," said Matt.

Foggy was desperate to get the attention as far away from himself as possible. "What about Henry?" he asked.

"I have my own protection," Henry replied, not wanting to say any more.

Foggy wasn't about to let him get off that easy. "What kind of protection?"

Henry sighed, knowing that it was probably only right that the younger man knew. "I can't be killed," he admitted. "At least, not by any of the 'traditional' methods."

Guilo squeezed the immortal's shoulder. "One day God will call you home, old friend," he assured the man. "But to my knowledge, it won't be any time soon."

Matt caught on to the tone in the angel's reassurances. " _Old_ friend? Can I ask...?"

"I'm 236 years old," Henry replied, assuming the two most likely questions before Matt had a chance to answer them. "And yes, I've had encounters with angels before this."

"Wow," Matt exclaimed, shaking his head in amazement.

"What about the women that are down there?" asked Foggy.

Henry turned to Foggy. "Women?"

"A human trafficking ring," Matt explained. "They kidnap girls, torture them, then move the girls around through those tunnels. One of the girls accused Father Lantom of being the ringleader. We're trying to defend him against the charges."

"Which is how you ended up down there tonight," said Henry.

On that point, Guilo was in full agreement. "It was a trap. Probably to draw you out, Matt. And when they discovered your Guide..."

"We have to go back down there," Foggy insisted.

"We _can't,_ " Matt countered. "You and I can't beat that...that thing down there. You _know_ this. And now it will be looking for us."

Foggy stared at his partner in disbelief. "What other choice do we have? Just leave those girls down there to die? Let Father Dave take the rap for it?"

"I think I might have a plan," Guilo and Henry volunteered simultaneously. The immortal and angel immediately turned to each other. "After you," Henry deferred to Guilo.

"Demons don't have the power to commit this type of criminal activity on their own," Guilo explained. "They have to inspire humans to do it for them."

Seeing that the angel was working on the same wavelength that he was, Henry added to his plans. "I have a couple of friends. They're police officers who know about my...gifts. If we explain the situation to them they should be able to help rescue these women and exonerate Father Lantom."

"We?" Matt asked warily.

Henry took in the finer details of Matt's appearance...and connected the outfit to a newspaper article he remembered from a few weeks earlier. "They're a members of the Network," he tried to reassure Matt. "Your secret 'should' be safe with them, if it comes to that."

"Now, why don't I find that reassuring?" Foggy declared, clearly skeptical of the idea.

Guilo ignored the comment. "There is something else that needs to happen before we can go down there, though."

"What?" asked Matt.

"Go get some rest," Guilo replied. "Meet me here first thing in the morning."

#

 **A/N:** No, I've never written the story of Henry's previous experience with the angels. Hadn't really thought about it much before writing this chapter, to be honest - but I think the story does have some potential. Let me know if you guys are interested.


	11. Chapter 11

Matt sat in a cheap, yellow and white woven plastic lawn chair on the roof of his building. He closed his eyes, drinking in the warmth of the rising sun on his skin.

"Hey."

Matt didn't need to turn around to know who was joining him. "Hey, Foggy." The Guide crossed the roof and sat in the matching chair next to his partner before handing his friend a covered coffee cup. "Thanks," said Matt.

"No problem," Foggy replied with a smile. He turned his gaze toward the sunrise, welcoming the connection as his Sentinel entered his mind. "Beautiful sunrise this morning."

Matt caught the tension in his guide's voice. "What's on your mind, Foggy?"

Foggy leaned back in his chair and sighed. He took a couple of sips of his coffee, using the time to collect his thoughts. "Was that angel right, last night?" he asked hesitantly. "Do you think that...that thing might have been after _me_?"

"I do."

The Sentinel and Guide stood up and turned around to find Guilo standing next to a blond-hair man with a build that matched the angel's. "You're an angel, too, I guess?" asked Foggy.

The blond-haired man nodded as Guilo made introductions. "Gentlemen, may I present Captain Tal, commander of the Heavenly Host and my boss. Captain, this is Matt Murdock and Franklin Nelson."

Tal passed by Matt and Foggy's offered hands, studying Matt from head to toe before gawking at him in outright astonishment. "I never thought I would meet your kind again, Watchman," he told Matt, bowing down to one knee in front of him. "It is _truly_ an honor."

"What did you call me?" asked Matt, confused and embarrassed by the angel's attention.

Tal blushed as his old friend chuckled. "Forgive me," Captain Tal apologized. "It's not often that my Lord works to teach me a new lesson."

Foggy spoke up for Matt, trying to re-focus the conversation. "Your fellow angel kept calling Matt a Sentinel, but now you're calling him a Watchman. What's the difference?"

"A Sentinel is so deeply connected to the earth that, even with their Guide's help, they might be able to sense our world, but they don't recognize us for who we are," Guilo explained. "They can't even become an apprentice unless they can sever that tie to the earth in some way."

"Usually by losing their sight," said Guilo.

The angels' description brought a memory to the front of Matt's mind. "That's why Madame Gao's followers blinded themselves, isn't it? She was looking for a Watchman." Both angels nodded.

"So what's the difference between an apprentice and a Watchman?" asked Foggy.

"Purity of heart," Captain Tal replied. "A Sentinel tends to feel emotions very deeply. Love. Loyalty. Compassion. Righteous anger. But because of those deep emotions they are also easily tempted to give in to those emotions and become arrogant. To believe themselves to be gods. That they have the right to decide who lives and who dies."

"Stick," Matt exclaimed. "That's why he's not a Watchman."

Captain Tal nodded. "He thought that by separating himself from the world he could keep himself pure. But by separating himself from humanity, he put himself above them. He rejected his Guide when he was younger than you are now. It's what caused his fall. You have no idea how rare a heart like yours truly is, Matt."

"Careful," Foggy teasingly warned, "you'll give him a swelled head."

Men and angels alike chuckled at that. "I believe that you're part of the reason we came here, Matt," said Captain Tal. "You and the Guardians."

"Which is why you believe I was the target last night," Foggy added.

"That's right," agreed Guilo.

"Shut out your other senses and open yourself up totally to the spirit world around you," Captain Tal instructed them. "There are things you both need to learn, and quickly."

Foggy closed his eyes and connected with the mind of his Watchman...only to find that he wasn't alone in there. _Captain?_

Captain Tal didn't deviate from his instructional path. _What do you feel, gentlemen? Tell me._

 _Evil,_ said Matt.

 _But in pockets,_ added Foggy. _Not the same amount everywhere. It's like potholes in a road. Some spots there's just a little and then there are others..._

 _The darkest spots are where you will both be at your most vulnerable,_ Captain Tal explained. _The darker the area, the more concentrated the evil._

Matt and Foggy both shuddered with the discomfort of painful memories. _We understand._

 _But now filter that evil out,_ the angel instructed them. _Tell me what you feel then._

Foggy recognized the difference instantly. _It's...goodness, or purity, or...I don't know, whatever you would call the opposite of that evil..._

 _It's really sparse, though,_ thought Matt. _There's a couple of big concentrations of it, but the rest is really spread out in tiny dots all over the city._

 _And what are those dots?_ asked Captain Tal.

Matt focused on one of those dots and recognized the aura immediately. _Your men,_ he thought.

 _If we tried to attack those deep pockets of darkness,_ asked the angel, _do you think we would win?_

 _No,_ thought Foggy.

 _Where are those two big concentrations of light?_ Captain Tal asked.

Foggy recognized the first one immediately. _The Warehouse. Guardian headquarters._

 _And that's why you were the demon's target last night. Most demons can't tell the difference between one of you and one of us. What's the second concentration?_

Matt was the one to recognize the second source of light. _It's Holy Cross, isn't it?_

 _It is,_ the angel replied. _You see how that light is shifting, looking like it's trying to grow?_

 _Yeah,_ Matt and Foggy agreed in unison.

 _We call that prayer cover,_ Captain Tal explained. _The stronger our prayer cover, the better our chances for victory._

Foggy and Matt found themselves fascinated by the light over Holy Cross. _Does that mean that someone is praying for us?_ asked Foggy.

 _He hasn't stopped since he figured out who your are and what you do,_ the angel replied.

Matt understood exactly who Captain Tal was talking about. _Father Lantom._

 _His prayers for you are the reason that demon didn't kill you both last night. Those prayers are the reason the demon couldn't get past the tunnels. And the combination of Father Lantom's prayers for you and the church's prayers on the Father's behalf are the reason that this attack against him will not be victorious. Entrust your works to the Lord and your plans will succeed._

#

Henry looked up from the coffee pot, relieved to see that Jo looked to be in a good mood...mostly. "Good morning, Jo," he greeted his partner, handing the woman a large, steaming mug of coffee. "Thank you for meeting me so early."

Jo took the cup and gave herself one long, indulgent whiff of the pricey brew's aroma. "Greet me with a cup of this every morning and I'll meet you _anywhere,_ " she groaned before taking a sip of the drink.

Henry half-chuckled and blushed at the double entendre implicit within Jo's comment. "I might take you up on that someday," he replied.

Jo looked up into Henry's obviously adoring gaze and nervously changed the subject. "So what...what's going on, Henry? And why is it so dark in here? You said something about needing to help a friend who's in trouble?"

Henry's face fell as he nodded, suddenly nervous for a whole different set of reasons. "I do have a friend who needs your help. Both yours and Detective Hanson's."

Jo's brow furrowed in confusion. "Mike? You know he's been transferred to the 15th, right?"

"I know. That's why we need his help."

Jo looked up from her coffee and gasped when she recognized the man who had just spoken. The coffee mug fell with a crash, spilling its precious content on the floor as Jo pulled her weapon from its back holster and trained it on the man known as Daredevil.

Henry moved with equal speed, ignoring the fallen coffee mug and stepping in between Jo's gun and its intended target. "Jo, before you say anything...he's with me. He's the friend who needs your help."

Jo's eyes widened. Her hand tightened around the handle of her weapon briefly before she remembered how out-of-touch her partner could often be. "Do you know who he _is,_ Henry? What he's _done?"_

"I do," Henry replied. "He knows _me,_ too," he added, hoping Jo would get the implied hint within the brief comment.

She did. "He knows your _secret?!"_ Jo exclaimed, her eyes widening even more as she was stunned to near speechlessness. "How?! How in God's name did _Daredevil learn your secret?!"_

"I'm a Watchman," Matt replied calmly. "I read Doctor Morgan's aura."

Hearing 'Watchman' and 'aura' in the same sentence told Jo that she had stepped away from what she considered to be the 'normal' world and was now dealing in the oddly twisted parallel universe of her 236 year-old immortal partner. Jo tucked her gun back into its holster but never took her focus away from Henry. "He's Network?" she asked. When Henry nodded, Jo threw up her hands in an expression of 'now I've seen everything' surrender. "Of course," she exclaimed, "of _course_ Daredevil's a member of the goddamn Network..."

"He's WHAT?!"

Jo and Henry turned to see Mike coming up the stairs, stunned and confused by what little he had heard of the conversation. "He's Network," Jo informed her former partner. "Somehow Daredevil over there has convinced the damn Guardians that he's on _their_ side..."

Mike quickly scanned the room and pulled his own weapon when he recognized the costumed man hiding in the shadows. "What the hell is _he_ doing here?" he asked Henry and Jo.

"He's Network," Jo replied. "Apparently _he_ has asked Henry for help. And now Henry's asking _us."_

Henry tried to keep a constant eye on both Jo and Mike, unsure of which detective would try to shoot Matt first. _Of course,_ he then thought, _there's always the possibility that one of them will shoot Matt and the other will shoot *me*..._ "Jo," he finally decided, "a Watchman doesn't just have hypersenses. They're _instinctively_ hard-wired to protect their city. Which means that it's almost physically impossible for him to be..."

"What...what about those bombings in Hell's Kitchen, Henry?" Jo argued, still stunned by the idea that Henry was defending Daredevil. "Or those cops he killed..."

"I didn't kill those cops," Matt insisted. "And I didn't blow up those buildings. I was framed..."

Jo rolled her eyes. "Framed? You're _actually_ trying to tell me that some street thug got pissed off at you enough to 'frame' you..."

"We're not talking about a street thug, detective. Wilson Fisk was the man who blew up those buildings. _He_ had those cops killed."

"Really?" Jo drolled. "You're trying to tell me that you somehow pissed off Wilson Fisk enough for him to kill dozens of people just to set you up..."

Henry suddenly realized a way to stop this argument in its tracks. "Jo, you know those Sanctuary policies I was telling you about?"

Jo sighed, shaking her head to try and switch her focus to Henry's abrupt change in topic. "You mean the Guardians' way of trying to keep you out of three strikes jail?"

Henry shook his head. "I don't think those policies were written for me. I think they might have been written for _him._ "

Jo breathed out a string of bitter curses in a expression of frustration as Mike rolled his eyes. "Are you serious?" asked Jo. " _They_ have decided that Daredevil falls under their sphere of 'protection'?!"

"I believe so, yes," Henry replied.

Jo looked about ready to blow her stack, but she forced herself to tamp down her anger and give her best friend the benefit of the doubt. "You know I have to call this in, right?" she asked him. "Verify that what you're saying is true?"

"Go ahead," Henry told her. "You can use the phone in the study."

Jo stormed off, pointing a warning finger at Daredevil as she passed. "Don't...go... _anywhere_ ," she insisted. Matt nodded.

The three men held their tense, silent standoff while Jo made the brief phone call. The woman's anger was only slightly abated by what she had been told. "He's Sanctuary," Mike," Jo told her former partner. "Just like Henry said. He's their problem now."

"What are you talking about?" Matt asked the group, completely confused by the context of the conversation.

Jo handled the explanation while Mike put his gun back in its holster. "Officially, it means that if you're ever arrested, Homeland Security will stand up for you as one of their CI's and negotiate to get minor charges dismissed quietly."

Matt swallowed hard, wondering whether he had jumped from the frying pan into the fire. "Homeland Security?" he asked, trying to keep his demeanor as calm as possible.

"Technically, the Guardians are a division of Homeland Security," Henry explained.

"If you really blow it, though," Jo warned, "then the Guardians will deal with you themselves..."

"It won't ever come to that," Henry and Matt insisted in unison.

Mike sighed loudly, forcing himself to set his emotions aside. "Okay, _you_ said you needed our help, Henry. What's this really about?"

"The Holy Cross case," Matt replied.

Jo turned to Mike. "That sex trafficking case you were telling me about? I thought you guys had that priest in custody..."

Mike's eyes went wide with recognition. "The church has been moving heaven and earth to keep that case out of the press. So how the hell would _you_ know about it?"

Matt turned to Henry. "You trust them?"

"With my life," Henry declared, his voice thick with resolute conviction.

Putting his trust in the man who had saved his life, Matt removed his mask.

Mike let out a string of curses that made Jo's earlier rant sound clean by comparison. "Matt goddamn Murdock..." he announced to the group. "Son of a..."

"You know this guy?" Jo asked, confused.

"He's the priest's defense attorney," replied Mike. "His _blind_ defense attorney."

That piece of information surprised Jo. "Daredevil's _blind_?" Matt nodded. "Wow," said Jo.

"My client's been framed," Matt told the two cops. "I've found the other girls and the men who are holding them prisoner."

Mike stared at Matt in stunned disbelief. "You know where they are?" he asked.

Matt nodded. "I can't go after them myself without endangering people that I care about. And I can't divulge this information as Matt Murdock..."

"Because it would only make the good Father look guilty as sin," Mike reluctantly agreed.

Matt nodded again. "I'm only here because of how much Doctor Morgan trusts you. Will you help me?"

Jo and Mike looked to each other, then to Henry, before turning back to Matt and nodding their heads in agreement. "What do you need us to do?" asked Jo.

#

 **A/N** : Captain Tal's last instruction is Proverbs 16:3 out of the New American Bible (Revised Edition). Evenmoor, in her great wisdom, reminded me that the NAB is the translation that Father Lantom (and in turn, probably Matt) would be the most familiar with. Comments always welcome!


	12. Chapter 12

Detective Mike Hanson was in a foul mood. He knew he probably shouldn't be. If their intel was correct, they were about to rescue over a dozen women, pulling them out of what could literally qualify as a version of hell on Earth. This was the type of day he lived for. This was the type of day _every_ cop lived for. Mike knew he should have been fired up.

As fired up as his eager young partner, at the very least. Brett was clearly nervous, constantly switching focus between watching the SWAT unit prepare for the raid and checking his own vest, gun and goggles. "They're going in ahead of us, right?" the junior detective asked for the third time. "We're fine carrying just our service weapons?"

Mike ignored the questions, confident that Brett already knew the answers. The older detective's mind was far too preoccupied by the one thing that was sticking in his craw. The one thing that was the inspiration of and the continuing fuel for his bad mood: the source of the information that had brought them all there in the first place. "You're sure that this is the right tunnel?" he asked his former partner, certain that their location in the basement of an abandoned building was going to be the start of a wild goose chase that was going to make them _all_ look like idiots.

Jo nodded. "It's the right depth below ground. We go any lower and we hit the subway."

"Yeah, but this is _blocks_ away from the church," he muttered under his breath. "How the hell would a blind man know..."

"Mike?" Jo warned in a tone that broached no argument.

"Yeah, Jo?"

"Don't ask, don't tell."

The simple coded message shut down Mike's active ability to argue the point. He recalled, as he always did, what his former partner had told him the day they established the code phrase. _I know things have gone way beyond weird,_ Jo had told him. _But when has Henry ever steered us wrong?_

 _He hasn't,_ Mike had replied. _Yet._

Mike could still remember the way that Jo had glared at him. _Look, you know I trust Henry with my life. Especially now. And now he's trusted *us* with *his* life. Call me overly attached to him if you want, but I feel like we need to honor that..._

"Don't ask, don't tell," had become their shorthand way of honoring that trust. It meant that no matter how crazy Henry Morgan had made their lives, they needed to trust that, however crazy one of his leads might sound, it was going to lead them to getting justice for the victims by putting the bad guys where they belonged. _Apparently,_ thought Mike, _Jo thought that trust needed to be extended to some goddamned street vigilante..._ the detective sighed in defeat when he realized the error in his thinking. Jo wasn't the one who was extending her trust to Daredevil.

Henry was.

Matt Murdock, in return, had entrusted his life to all of them. Mike knew that he could probably end the man's life with a single well-placed phone call.

But if he made that call, Mike knew he would lose Henry's respect and friendship. And the loss of Jo's respect and friendship wouldn't be far behind.

There were very few people in the world that Mike Hanson would blindly walk over hot coals for.

Jo Martinez was one of those people.

And if she was asking her to do that now...

Well, he'd do it. But he didn't have to like it. "You know," he grumbled, "Don't ask don't tell is one of the reasons I put in for this damn transfer in the first place..."

Jo smiled, knowing that her former partner's last statement was patently false. "C'mon," she nudged him, "it looks like SWAT's ready to go in."

The three cops caught up to the SWAT team as their commander was wrapping up a briefing that sounded like an odd combination of combat tactics and kindergarten safety tips. "We don't have plans of the tunnels down there, so keep your locator beacons on and stick with your buddy," he told them. "I don't want to lose anyone. And remember, those girls will be sitting ducks in those cages, so don't take the shot unless our slimebags are up and moving. All right, gentlemen? Let's do this."

SWAT filed through the tight tunnel entrance, moving with surprising noiselessness for a large group of men carrying automatic weapons. Mike suddenly found himself grateful for his borrowed pair of night vision goggles. _Murdock was right about one thing,_ he thought, _I wouldn't be able to see a damn thing without these._ The group moved with swift purpose, pairs of men filing out to clear each branch of the tunnels as they came across them...but never moving forward until the departing pair retuned, giving the silent signal that the tunnel was clear for a hundred yards away from what Mike considered to be the 'main artery' that the majority of the group was traveling through.

The fifth pair, though, returned without giving the clear signal. Instead, they gave the signal for the group to follow them. The group moved single file down the narrow tunnel space, with Mike bringing up the rear. The detective heard clanging noises as the silent group stalked the tunnel, but it was only when the group stopped that Mike heard it.

Crying.

 _Goddamn it,_ he thought, _Murdock was right._

"FREEZE!" The SWAT commander yelled. "ON YOUR KNEES! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!"

Three men yelled back to the SWAT commander in an angry panic, before Mike heard what sounded like the angry footfalls of men running. Three shots rang out, inspiring a cacophonous mob of screams as the captives responded to the loud, violent noise with shock and terror. As much as he was tempted to turn and run from the sound, Mike followed the rest of his team as they filed into the space. He knew that he had a job to do if, by some miracle, they found the girls. And now that that miracle had occurred...

'HEY!" he screamed, trying and failing to get the attention of hte rapidly disorganizing group. "HEY!" he screamed louder, to no avail...

Mike shot his service weapon into the solid cement above his head. It caused a shower of irritating pieces of plaster to rain down on top of his head, but it got the job done; all heads turned in his direction as the room fell silent. He prayed that his broken Albanian would be enough to get through to the frightened women that surrounded him. "You're safe now," he told them. "We're here to get you safe, get you well, and get you back home."

A few of the girls sobbed quietly. Others whispered to each other or called out "Faleminderit," which Mike knew to mean "thank you". But there were no more screams. The girls were still shaking, staring with desperate, wide eyes at the SWAT team members as the men used heavy-duty bolt cutters to rip open their cages.

But there was no more fear.

There was no more panic.

For the first tme since these girls had been taken from their homes, it seemed to be sinking in that there was hope.

And if that was all that they could give those girls...Mike just hoped that was enough.

#

CSU brought in what seemed to be an entire sporting goods store's worth of camping lanterns and other floodlights so that they could triage and treat the girls, examine the bodies of the three men that SWAT had taken down and search the cavern for any more evidence that could prove crucial to their investigation.

Jo was the first person to catch Mike's attention during the search. "Hey Hanson," she called out, "you gotta see this."

Mike wove his way through the cramped, overcrowded room until he stood over his partner, who was kneeling next to an open footlocker at the foot of a military-looking cot. "What'cha got there, Jo?"

"See for yourself," Jo replied. She stood up and backed away from the footlocker, giving her former partner the chance to take her place.

Mike moved so that he could see the contents of the footlocker...and didn't know whether to laugh, roll his eyes, or curse at what he was seeing. "Oh you gotta be _kidding_ me," he insisted.

Jo knelt down next to Mike and pulled one of the many cleanly pressed black shirts out of the trunk, putting one of the crisp white clerical collars on top of it before handing it to her partner. "Either one of these guys really was a priest," she mused, "or..."

"Or they used the outfits to try to look like priests in order to lull the girls into a false sense of security," Mike agreed.

"Hey Mike," Brett called out to his partner. "You're never gonna _believe_ this."

Mike joined his new partner...and started to let out a string of Albanian curses as the final puzzle piece fell into place.

"Am I missing something here, gentlemen?" asked Doctor Andrews.

"That guy," Brett replied, pointing to the gunshot victim at their feet, "looks like he could be the younger brother of our current prime suspect."

"Which means I gotta go eat crow in front of Matt Murdock," Mike exclaimed. "A whole hell of a lot of crow..."


	13. Chapter 13

Father Lantom fidgeted nervously as he sat in the richly decorated, but dark and empty waiting room. He _hated_ wearing the cassock (a collared suit made far more practical sense in New York City, in his opinion), but under the circumstances, he felt it only appropriate. Cardinal Atherton seemed to have requested his presence within seconds of the judge pronouncing him "free to go" and well, when meeting a cardinal for the first time, being as formal as possible seemed to fit the occasion.

Truth be told, though, meeting his Eminence for the first time felt like the least of Father Lantom's worries. He had disobeyed direct orders, defied the will of the cardinal himself, and rebelled against the church's generous show of support. All of which could, from the right perspective, be considered to be sins...and some of those sins qualified as pretty grievous ones.

If _he_ were the cardinal, he isn't sure what he would do. Father Lantom only hoped that the cardinal had more wisdom than he did...

"Father Lantom?" the secretary announced.

Lost in his own thoughts, the priest jumped nervously at the call of his name. "Yes?"

"His eminence will see you now," the secretary replied. "If you will please follow me."

Father Lantom nodded, jumping up to follow the modestly dressed young woman as she pushed through a set of double doors and down a wide set of stairs to a very non-descript looking hallway. The secretary's thick heels clopped against the marble floor until they stopped in front of a door that seemed all the more spectacular for its plainness. The secretary opened the door but didn't stand on any further ceremony. "Father David Lantom, your eminence," she announced, seemingly expecting the priest to walk past her into the office.

Cardinal Atherton stood up as Father Lantom entered the room, which allowed the secretary to close the door behind him with a soft click. "Father Lantom," the cardinal greeted him warmly, "it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Father Lantom went down on one knee and kissed the cardinal's ring. "Your eminence," he humbly replied in greeting.

The cardinal encouraged the priest before him to rise. "I hear glad tidings are the order of the day," the cardinal began the conversation with a cheerful smile. "It seems that the truth has revealed itself."

"Yes," Father Lantom agreed, "the false priest and his two men are dead and the rescued girls are now being cared for at Metro General."

"Wonderful!" Cardinal Atherton exclaimed. He walked around to his side of the steel and laminate desk, rifling through a small stack of papers on his desk before finding the papers he was looking for. The cardinal then pushed a button on what appeared to be a small local intercom system. "Abigail? Could you come back for a moment, please?" Those distinctive heels could soon be heard once again as 'Abigail' appeared and opened the door to the cardinal's office. The cardinal handed a stack of papers over to the woman before she had a chance to speak. "These are Father Lantom's reinstatement papers. Can you make sure these are put into the system immediately?"

"Of course, sir," Abigail replied quietly before turning on her heels and heading back to her desk.

Father Lantom watched the exchange in open-mouthed shock, still stunned as Cardinal Atherton closed the door behind his secretary. _Is that is? What about..._ "Y-y-y-y-your eminence," the priest finally stammered out.

Cardinal Atherton gestured to the office's guest chair. "I suppose you're wondering why I called you in here?"

"The thought...the thought had occurred to me, your eminence," Father Lantom replied as he sat in the offered chair.

Father Lantom's jaw dropped open a second time as Cardinal Atherton pulled up the second 'guest' chair and turned it to face the younger priest...before sitting down next to him. "Father Lantom," the cardinal declared, "I have asked you to join me here because I need to confess my sins and ask for your forgiveness."

 _"My_ forgiveness?!" Father Lantom gasped, his eyes widening. "Your eminence..."

Cardinal Atherton cut Father Lantom off. "I have not only listened to gossip and slander," he began, "but I based my opinion of you _on_ those slanders instead of striving to discover the truth for myself. Not only that, but i then ordered you to lie..."

"You didn't know..." Father Lantom protested.

"Nevertheless," Cardinal Atheton countered, "I ordered you to lie to protect the church. You chose to obey God rather than man. Taking that stand showed _me_ the error of my ways, and for that, I wanted to thank you personally."

Father Lantom sat back in the chair, amazed by the cardinal's humility. "Your eminence..."

"Please," the cardinal insisted, "enough with that infernal title already. Call me Bill."

Father Lantom found himself having trouble knowing what to think. "O-o-oh, okay...Bill," he agreed, clearly uncomfortable with the name. "In that case...you can call me David. I-i-i-if you'd like."

The cardinal smiled. "David, how fitting," he agreed. "The man after God's own heart. David, may we pray together?"

Shocked into speechlessness, Father Lantom consented with a nod, finding his voice only when he realized that the cardinal was patiently waiting for _him_ to lead them in prayer.

Cardinal Atherton seemed to have had a massive weight taken off of his shoulders when the two men opened their eyes. "Thank you, David."

"Thank you...sir," Father Lantom countered, remembering how the cardinal's secretary had 'split the difference' earlier.

The cardinal's smile widened at Father Lantom's refusal to use his first name. "I've heard quite a bit about the good work you're doing over in Hell's Kitchen, David," he said as he stood up, walking around Father Lantom to open the office door. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Father Lantom let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding, taking the moment of relief to carefully consider the cardinal's question. _What do I tell him, Lord?_ he prayed. That prayer became the inspiration for his answer. "If you were to remember our little parish in your prayers, sir," he replied as he stood. "I believe I couldn't ask you for anything more than that."

#

Father David Lantom turned the corner from 10th Avenue to find the surprise of his life.

But in a good way.

"SURPRISE!"

It seemed like almost his entire parish had come out to greet him, spreading a giant "Welcome Home!" banner across the block...which was now shut down at either end by barricades. Kids were running up and down the now car-free street, enjoying several makeshift basketball hoops that were attached to power and telephone poles. Small grills were going every few feet or so, their grill masters calling out to him with shouts of "HEY! PADRE! CONGRATS!" before returning to their food-tending duties.

Hugs seemed to be the main order of the day, though, as Father Lantom was stopped every few feet by a mob of well-wishers, many of whom seemed to feel like his personal nightmare had been their own. So by the time the priest made it to the makeshift buffet that had been set up outside of his home, Father Lantom was sure that he had had enough hugs to last him for a year...

Until he saw who was hard at work coordinating the buffet...and the party. "Emma," he asked his assistant between hugs and shouts of orders to her own 'assistants', "was this your idea? How long did..."

"A lot less time than you'd think," Emma replied, blowing off Father Lantom's expression of gratitude. "You're more well loved than you know, Father. All I had to do was make a couple of calls and people came out of the woodwork in droves."

Father Lantom scanned the party around him with a whole new level of admiration and respect. "Hell of a day," he exclaimed. "You'll never believe the conversation I just had with the Cardinal. He..."

"Owed you a _massive_ apology," Emma cut the priest off with a knowing grin.

Father Lantom stared at his spitfire assistant in disbelief. "Emma, tell me you didn't..."

Emma's eyes sparkled as she winked at her boss. "I _may_ have set his eminence straight on a...few things."

The priest shook his head as he gave Emma the first hug that he initiated that day. "My stubborn Irish rose," he chuckled.

Father Lantom broke the embrace with his assistant a moment later when the two detectives approached him with a brunette that he didn't recognize. "Detective Mahoney, Detective Hanson," he warmly greeted the two men, firmly shaking each man's hands. "Wouldn't have expected to see you boys at something like this."

The two men tilted their heads in Emma's direction. "Your assistant seemed to want to make sure that there were no hard feelings," said Brett.

Father Lantom glared at Emma, who shamelessly bounced on her heels. "Just making sure all fences are mended," she insisted.

"And they _are_ ," the priest warmly agreed. "Those girls were the important thing here, and you got them away from the monsters who were holding them. _That_ is what counts here." He then took the time to offer a hand to the one unfamiliar person in the conversation. "Father David Lantom."

"Detective Jo Martinez," Jo introduced herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Father."

Their conversation was cut short when, out of the corner of his eye, Father Lantom spotted two very important men seated on the bench in front of the church. "Please enjoy the party, detectives. If you'll excuse me."

Jo and Mike watched Father Lantom as he approached the blind attorney and the man that Jo could only assume was his business partner. A thought occurred to her as she considered everything she knew about the blind attorney. "I wonder..."

Mike cut off his former partner before she had the chance to put her thoughts into words. "Jo, believe me when I tell you I don't want to 'wonder' about anything else about this case. Ever. Again."

Jo chuckled, sympathizing with her friend's frustration. "C'mon," she invited him, "let's go get a burger..."

#

While Father Lantom's heart was overflowing with gratitude for God, Emma, his church and his parish, he knew that there were only two people that he truly wanted to _thank:_ the two men that were now standing in front of him. "I'm so glad to see you," he told them. "I owe..."

"You don't owe us anything," Matt declared.

"I owe you _everything,"_ Father Lantom insisted, his voice cracking as he thought about what he wanted to say. "You boys saved my life and gave me back my freedom. I'll...I'll never forget that."

Foggy seemed deeply moved by the priest's gratitude. "You're very welcome," he replied.

"If you two ever need anything... _anything,"_ the priest declared, "you just say the word. You got that?"

Matt nodded, accepting the priest's words and the heartfelt sincerity behind them. "Got it," he replied.

Another wave of well-wishers swept Father Lantom away as Foggy spotted a large man dressed in khakis at the end of the block, watching the party from the relative safety of the plywood barricades. "You see that?"

"See what?" asked Matt.

Confused by his Watchman's unusual lack of awareness, Foggy determined to investigate. "Be back in a second," he excused himself.

Captain Tal smiled as he watched the Guide approach him...without his Watchman. _Great party,_ he mentioned in greeting.

Foggy sipped his soda, grateful to not have to speak to the being that he was sure that no one else was seeing. _Why couldn't Matt see you?_ he asked, deciding to get straight to the point.

 _I'm not here for him,_ Captain Tal replied. _Just you._

 _Me?_ Foggy asked, clearly surprised. _Why me?_

 _We talked a lot about your Watchman's role the last time we met,_ Captain Tal's mind-voice spoke into Foggy's thoughts. _I wanted to make sure that you were comfortable with your role in all of this._

Foggy shrugged. _It's a lot...more than I ever expected,_ he admitted _, but I think I'm starting to get the hang of it._

 _Really?_ askedCaptain Tal, surprised by Foggy's comments. _The fate of the world rests squarely on *your* shoulders, and you don't have any questions?_

Foggy spit soda out through his nose and immediately recoiled from the painful sensation. _Run that by me again?!_

 _You're Matt's Guide, right?_ the captain asked.

 _Yeah,_ Foggy agreed warily.

 _That makes you the most important part of this equation,_ Captain Tal explained. _You see, the creator has tried all of this before._

Foggy nodded. _Yeah, you mentioned that._

 _I mentioned that I had met a *Watchman* before,_ the captain corrected him. _What I didn't explain was that that Watchman had a Guide and Guardians, as well._

 _Really?_ asked Foggy.

Captain Tal nodded. _Ever hear of David?_

Foggy's eyes went wide. _David? As in David-who-killed-Goliath-with a slingshot David?_

 _The very same,_ Captain Tal replied. _David was born a Watchman. And a few of his closest men had been blessed as Guardians. But his Guide, Jonathan, chose his father the king over David._

It didn't take much insight to see that Captain Tal still felt deeply about the ancient decision. _What happened?_ asked Foggy.

 _The Guardians were stripped of their gifts,_ Captain Tal replied solemnly. _They became known simply as David's 'mighty men'._

 _And David and Jonathan? What happened to them?_

 _Jonathan was killed fighting at his father's side._ Tal sighed, consumed with disappointment over what might have been. _The creator sent David many Guides and prophets to keep him sane...but he was never the Watchman that he had been created to be. And the Guardian blessing was sent to a group of monks for safe keeping in a far off land..._

Foggy suspected that he knew where the captain was bringing their conversation. _Until now._

 _As the Guide goes, so goes the Watchman,_ Captain Tal declared, sounding like he was quoting a proverb that Foggy didn't know. _As the Watchman goes, so go the Guardians._

Foggythoughtabout how he reacted when he found out about his best friend's secret vigilante lifestyle. He had come so close to ending their friendship back then. Even at the time, he knew it would have been a mistake that he would regret for the rest of his life. _But now..._ Foggy deliberately made the choice to set aside the past and focus on his present and future. _What do I need to do?_ he asked.

 _Keep him faithful,_ Captain Tal replied. _Keep him strong. Keep him humble. The creator will take care of the rest._

 _#_

 **A/N:** I'm posting chapters 13 & 14 together for a reason. If you're tempted to ask me questions about Foggy's faith (or criticize me for tying the two men's faith together), well...

Keep reading. :-)


	14. Chapter 14

_...Jonathan became one in spirit with David, and he loved him as himself._

 _-1 Samuel 18:1 (NIV)_

#

Foggy Nelson hadn't slept a wink.

It would have been fine if he had lost sleep over a girl. Hell, he would have been _thrilled_ to lose sleep over a girl. _Any_ girl.

No such luck.

Instead, he was stuck losing sleep over a seven foot tall blond guy.

With wings.

The conversation Foggy had had with Captain Tal left Foggy shaken to the core of his being. He pulled up a Bible website, reading and re-reading David and Jonathan's story in every translation that he could understand (and a few that he couldn't). The website had a search engine, so Foggy searched for what the Bible had to say about friends (which scared him) and watchmen (which only scared him more). Finally, Foggy slammed his laptop closed with a frustrated sigh when he realized that his problem boiled down to one thing:

How could he possibly help Matt keep his faith in something that he knew almost nothing about?

 _Maybe I oughta talk to an expert on the subject..._

He looked out of his window and saw that the sun was just starting to brighten the sky. Foggy checked the clock on his computer. _5:30._ He remembered that Matt had once told him about going to confession first thing in the morning: just after sunrise mass but before he got to the office for the day.

 _If I hurry,_ he thought, _I just might beat him there..._

#

Father Lantom was finishing up some sort of elaborate-looking prayer when Foggy arrived at Holy Cross, so he tried to move as quietly as he could, slipping through the back door and sitting in the closest available seat.

The priest spotted Foggy as soon as he opened his eyes. He gave his benediction, then shook hands and greeted each of the twelve people in the congregation before making his way to Foggy's seat in the back. "Mister Nelson!" he exclaimed. "This is quite the surprise! I'm usually starting to keep an eye out for your partner right about now."

Foggy looked uncomfortable on top of being exhausted. "Is there some place we can talk. Father?" he asked the priest. "Some place a little more...private?"

Father Lantom appreciated the younger man's discomfort. "Step into my office," he told Foggy. The priest then leaned down and told the younger man in a conspiratorial almost-whisper, "I just gotta lose the monkey suit..."

#

Foggy accepted the steaming mix of milk and coffee, grateful both for the beverage and for having something to do with his hands. Father Lantom took his own latte, stirring in two packets of sugar before sitting down next to the younger man at the conference room table. "So how can I help you today, Mister..."

"Please," Foggy insisted nervously. "Call me Foggy. My...my friends call me Foggy."

"All right," Father Lantom agreed. "What's on your mind, Foggy?" When the younger man didn't immediately respond, the priest decided to test a theory he had just thought of. "Does this have anything to do with the angel you saw the other day?"

Foggy's face paled. "You _know_ about that?"

Father Lantom enjoyed Foggy's expression far more than he knew he should have. "Of course," he teased...then immediately backtracked when the younger man looked about ready to panic. "Easy, Foggy, easy! Matt mentioned the angel before he asked us to leave when the two of you found the tunnel. The comment stuck out to me..." The reality of who he was talking to and what they were talking about finally struck the priest. " _Did_ you two meet an angel the other night?"

Foggy nodded. "Two, actually. They've been helping us for the past two days."

Father Lantom sat back in his chair, stunned by what the younger man had just told him. "What...what did they _say?"_

The priest held onto his own coffee mug for dear life as he fought the urge to write down every amazing thing that Foggy was telling him. "Incredible," he kept whispering, shaking his head. "You're telling me that Matt's gifts allow him not just to experience this world on a level that very few people will ever experience, but that he also sees the spiritual battle that goes on all around us, every day?" Father Lantom sat back, stunned into near speechlessness when Foggy nodded. "Wow," he exclaimed. The priest's level amazement was tempered by the look that unmistakably mixed emotions playing across Foggy's face. "So what about this is bothering you so much?"

"It's not so much what Matt can do," Foggy admitted. "It's what Captain Tal said about _my_ part in all of this."

"You mean being Matt's guide?"

Foggy nodded. "He seems to think that this whole system hinges on _me."_

Father Lantom started to feel like he was catching on to the gist of the younger man's problems. "You mean the whole 'as the Guide goes, so goes the Watchman' thing?"

"Yeah," Foggy agreed. "His last words to me were, 'Keep him faithful. Keep him strong. Keep him humble. The creator will take care of the rest.' How the hell am I supposed to do that?!"

Father Lantom stood up and stepped away from the conference table. "I think I may have something that will help," he shared. He pulled a Bible from a nearby bookshelf, flipped it open and pointed to a passage. "Read this."

Curious, Foggy looked at the book, reading Father Lantom's suggestion aloud. "Two are better than one: They get a good wage for their toil. If the one falls, the other will help the fallen one. But woe to the solitary person! If that one should fall, there is no other to help. So also, if two sleep together, they keep each other warm. How can one alone keep warm? Where one alone may be overcome, two together can resist. A three-ply cord is not easily broken." Foggy sat back and tried to consider what he had just read. "So you're saying that this passage is about me and Matt?"

"Not just you and Matt," Father Lantom replied. He pulled out a piece of paper and drew a triangle on it, defining the points as he spoke. "You, Matt and God. Think about it like this: you already know Matt has this relationship with God. I take it you're not a religious man?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" asked Foggy, sarcastically rolling his eyes.

Father Lantom chuckled in sympathy with Foggy's comment before pointing to Foggy's end of the triangle. "Then this is you, over here. Now God never changes, so his point on the triangle never moves. If you try to pull Matt closer to you, what happens to his connection to God?"

"He moves further away," Foggy replied.

Father Lantom nodded in agreement. "Now, if you move yourself closer to God, what would that do to Matt's point on the triangle?"

Foggy studied the triangle closely. "It can't pull him farther away from God, can it? He would either stay where he is or get closer to God, himself, wouldn't he?"

"Exactly!" agreed Father Lantom. "Now, there are a lot of other scriptures that reinforce this, but the point is this: the best way to help Matt stay faithful is to build your _own_ faith."

"And how do I do that?" asked Foggy.

Father Lantom smiled. "That's why they pay me the big bucks." Foggy glared at the priest, who replied with a wink and a quiet chuckle. He closed the Bible and passed it over to Foggy. "Start there."

"The Bible?" asked Foggy.

Father Lantom nodded. "For most people, this is where we learn about who God is and what he wants from us. Granted, you have a few more resources than the rest of us, but this is still square one..."

#

Matt held his cane at both ends, biting his lip to do his very best not to interrupt the two men and spoil the moment. For all the years that Matt had known Foggy, his best friend had shown no interest in anything remotely spiritual. _Ever._ So if it took meeting with two angels, nearly getting killed by a demon and being given a mission directly from God to convince Foggy to pursue a relationship with him...

He could live with that.

 **A/N** : Father Lantom had Foggy read Ecclesiastes 4:9-12.

That's it for this one. Thanks again to Evenmoor for the idea! I hope you all enjoyed it!


End file.
